Monday
James
It has not been a good couple of weeks. I find it almost awe-inspiring how different life can be from one minute to the other. I thought I knew misery, but I've found that it is true that you can only know misery if you know happiness. I hadn't known happiness. I had known comfortabilty and I had confused it with happiness - but it wasn't, it was just something dormant. It is pathetic that I confuse being "okay" with being happy, but I'm sure that will not happen again.So, what's the difference between being good and being happy, being alright and being happy? I can't even begin to explain it. It's like comparing purple and orange, it's like comparing grey with grey, it's like comparing something that's perfectly alike and similar separated by millions of differences.The point I'm trying to make (if there is one) is that without this perfectly clear understanding of happiness, I would not have been able to experience the pain I have the last couple of weeks. I am, however, fully aware that this is entirely my fault and that the pain that's been caused has been caused by me, mostly. I am so angry and dissapointed in myself. I keep going through it in my head, asking myself "yeah, what the hell were you thinking? and then? and THEN?!" and even though I know the answers, they made so much sense then, they've been void of their sense and seem so stupid and insignificant.
There are so many things I'm angry at myself for. Hurting someone so wonderful, so magnificent - well, that's the biggest part of it, especially because I never intended for it to happen. I know he doubts me sometimes. I wish he could get inside my head and see the way I see him, see it and not just hear it from me: a wonderful, incredible, sometimes excitable and emotional boy - man who I want to spend all my time with. Even when I'm angry, whenever I think of him it's like this blanket of pure love, afection for everything, including - perhaps even concentrating on his flaws. I know I'm crippingly insecure - I have visions, sometimes, even when we are just joking and they stab me in the heart. I feel myself falling backwards, biting my tongue, containing words poisonous and that I know are only for myself.
I am not unaware of the irrationality of it or of his absence of guilt. I am highly aware of how crippingly insecure I am then and only then do I really come to terms with it, when he's making me laugh, when he's making me feel like I belong - even if I'm crazy. Even if I don't make sense.
He's so extraordinary. He's the only person that's made me feel like I truly belong - and when he says he's proud of me, I don't shrug it off, I don't think of him as an idiot - it's like my heart inflates, my cheeks go red, my eyes start watering. When he's proud of me, I'm proud of me. For making someone so wonderful, so intelligent, so capable proud of me. I don't know why he thinks I don't love him as much when some days, only the image of him, the sound of his voice, the memory of his fingertips or his green (they aren't hazel, no matter what he says, they're a really dark green) eyes are the only thing that makes me get out of bed in the morning and smile at little things, like Disney world commercials, the words "cheese" and "joust".
I was so close to losing him over - over what? I know he loves me. I know that. It is a certainty, I sometimes forget it in my mind but it never leaves my heart. So I've decided to do the wise thing and thank God for my blessings every day. And for letting me have him in my life, even if it's just been a little while. Even if it'd just be a little while.
In other news, where the hell did I put that my chemical romance cd? I need it to read Danielle Steel to.
; written on the stars at 7:08 PM
