Cracks in the Ceiling

I am hesitant to type up my feelings. I'm unsure of what they are, at the moment. I'm undergoing a constant stir of emotions. These sentences aren't flowing together, which I can see, but I don't know how else to word it. In fact, the wording closely mirrors my own lack of rhythm and easeful sense of mind.

Sometimes I can see happiness and I crave it. Or at least a sense of contentment. My heart cries for such a feeling of belonging, whether that be a figurative or literal interpretation of the notion. And the truth is, I can put on a decent facade of being blissful in moments. Others scarcely see the anguish in my heart. And it's in those moments that I feel the most misery. Fooling others is not what I want, but I also do not wish to raise concern and be thought of differently. Now, I'm not saying people think I'm a naturally "cheerful" person, but they also do not know the melancholic pangs of my heart. It is not something I want others to see because it is not something I enjoy talking about. Instead, I am thought of as unemotional and detached from human connections. Which is true, in a way, but there is so much more to that.

I think feelings are wasted on people. At least the people I've come in contact with. I think I live in a generation of meanness and conceit, two characteristic traits I've often fell subject to. I've always found the saying "you always hurt the ones you love the most" to ring true in all areas of my life. Normally, in these situations, I chalk it up to an oversensitive flaw in others, in an attempt to make myself feel like less of the culprit and more of the victim. However, I later see how my actions or words were at fault but all too late and to the detriment of a relationship. Being that I am stubborn and hesitant to acknowledge my wrongdoings, I continue life without that person I love. I have never had problems making a fool of myself, I scarcely need the help of others in that matter. But I have also found myself on the receiving end of hurtful words and wounding actions, as we all have. I won't delve into them because we've all been there and I will spare you the long ramblings of my wounded vanity.

And here I am, not exactly seeing what point there was at all to this particular post. I can neither draw it to a logical conclusion either. So I'll just end it here, with my self-absorbed, lonely, and selfish musings. Ugh! I hate myself!