how can I cry tears of joy and sorrow?

What's wrong with me? Why do I get these pangs of saddness when I think of you? I shouldn't even be thinking of you. There should be no pull. I should feel nothing. So why do I? How real was it? That's what I'd like to know. How real was it? For me to have secret breakdowns, and for you to feel nothing. Do you feel nothing? Is it bad that I hope you suffer just as much as I do? Because I know you don't.

Perhaps I should stop before you get the wrong idea. Will I explain? No. Did I need to get that off my chest? Yes.

Hearing tales of unrequited love and fear and life always inspire me. But not the way it used to. I'm so stupid, for many reasons. For too many reasons. One being... I miss it. In some ways I miss telling those stories. I miss living through it. Because they make for great stories, if you know what I mean. They make you into somebody. And out of all the misery comes one thing that I'm finding hard to find... Inspiration. I find my inspiration in other people's blogs. I feed off of other people's "misery" in a way. It makes no sense. I don't understand it. It's a nasty habit that I need to kick.

Why else am I stupid? Too many reasons. Another being I can't let it go. I can't forget about it. I only think about it when I'm left alone. On these nights where I break into a cold sweat. Start shaking. When I allow myself to think too much. I always think too much. Over-analyzing things. That's what got me here in the first place.

Why can't I get you out of my head? You're stuck in there. Like a tick. A tick that I can't get rid of. Slowly draining me. Growing larger and larger. Sometimes like a tumor. With friends, you are powerless. They revive me. Left with one person in particular... And you vanish. Completely invisible. Completely paralyzed. As soon as I am left alone though... You creep your way back in. I hate it. I wish I could just kill you off. Not you. The metaphoric you. The tick in my head. My brain tick. You'll go away eventually. I will not feed you anymore. I refuse to. That's my problem. I've been feeding you, so you come back for more. I allow myself to think too much, and wind up feeding you. Well I'm done. You will starve. And I shall laugh.

But how can I control my thoughts? I've never been able to. I can't do it. Maybe I'm stuck with you. I can only hope to gain immunity from it. My only hope is to stay with the person who makes you shrivel and blow away. Obviously you aren't my only reason. Don't be so arrogent. You are low on my priorities. Then why am I blogging about you? I am a hypocrite in the worst ways.

From the Sea of Ticks and Tumors,
Calli