People are tough for me, understanding, relating to, and feeling for. Sometimes, I find it difficult to care for them, but I somehow remain sensitive to their plights. Emotionally, this drains me. I am relied on and turned to quite often for this or that, even when I never said I could be there for someone. I manage to remain strong, and hold myself together as they open up to me, but slowly I feel myself growing weak and weary of their plight and presence. But, I cannot tell them this for fear of hurting those I do care for. This whirlpool of emotion tears at me, confusing my thoughts invoking emotions far beyond what is necessary for me to feel at that given time.
Intensity is my being, deep and rich emotions flow forth whenever I feel, even t the smallest things, and take control of my logical mind, stripping me of self control. They leave me vulnerable and acting from pure instinct, like an animal backed into a corner. Insecurity follows as I realize the vulnerability I feel when my emotions run unhindered through my body. Irrationality soon embraces this insecurity and I lose all semblance of a human, a wild and impulsive creature lashes forth, saying and doing things I know I don’t mean, things I know I will feel guilty for later.
I fear and detest this about myself, but at the same time harken to it like a moth to the flame. For to feel makes me human, makes me whole, reminds me that I am in fact alive. Its the loss of rationality and control that it also brings about that I hate most. The insecurity I feel knowing this fact.
The distance I force myself to maintain just to retain the ability to think and not simply act on the wild impulses that rule me.
I love myself, and hate myself simultaneously, hiding behind a partial facade of confidence, or cowering in self doubt and fear of what I may be capable of. I try to push myself to the limits of control and bring myself back but control remains an elusive thing once I begin down that pathway. So I quickly detach, cowering behind the walls I erect to protect myself, and to protect others from the berserk emotions held within this form.
Suppression rather than expression, the poison I must ingest to keep others from pain or fear. This toxin that also prevents them from seeing the passion and deep caring held within this shell.
Painful hermitage, sweet solitude. Alone though I walk with the masses around me. Helping hands never capable of what they attempt. I know other entities care,and wish to assist in the uplifting of this one. But the fear and distrust preventing acceptance of their care. The path I must walk alone.