General crap and thoughts

Describing is easy talking is hard

Do you ever get that feeling? Such a refined feeling that creeps up to you, into you, possesses every inch of every vein in every part of your body.

You can't ignore it, you can't pretend like it's not there. You can't even make yourself think you aren't bothered by this feeling.

It takes over your whole functioning, especially the way you process your thoughts and eventually how you deal with these feelings.

It also defines you as a person. How you deal with certain things completes your whole image.

Although we should be very careful trying to determine someone's being with the only thing tangible at first: their image.

We tend, we all do, to decide what kind of entity we've encountered and if maybe they could arrange themselves to fit into our image we've elected for them.

I don't have a certain explanation for this certain behaviour but I know it's not something to be proud of.

But this feeling, yeah, this is something to be proud of. This feeling gives you the security that you're not feeling empty.

I know I have times where I fear to feel emptiness before I even get the message; there is in no way absence of this feeling in my body.

But that feeling, trust me, I tried to fit it into exact words, but it's not plausible.

Some of these words may clearify it a bit more: excitement, but not the kind of excitement that would make you get up and do what makes you excited.

Happy, but frightened and anticipated, ready for another wave of disappointment to take over. You could take over the world in one second, and the other one the world is crushing you down and you're blaming everyone because you didn't ask for help to carry the weight of the world. You could've just dropped it but instead you reduced your effort and even let it crush you and destroy you until there were no pieces left of your already vulnerable self.

The kind of feeling you get when you want to talk but talking, the actual process and actually doing it, is not so appealing to you.

But you crave it, you crave a feeling so deep Shakespeare wouldn't even have the words to form poems based on your feelings.

So you get goosebumps and chicken skin and gooseskin and chicken goose and everything around it.

And you need to express this burning rage, so beautiful yet really dangerous.

And you don't know how.

Which only worsens the situation and makes you flip and spin and drop and twirl and drool and cry and everything all over again.

After that, nothing was satisfying enough and the feeling cools off and gets away just as fast as it came.