I Don’t Actually Have Anything Interesting To Say At All, But Feel Free To Read This Post Anyway
by Noise Pollution
As my writing has begun to slowly crawl back to me, so have several emotions that I previously thought were lost to me forever. I guess that was naive of me to think, that a month or so of cloudy, stifled emotions was somehow representative of my future.
A lot of feelings have come back. The sadness, that’s a big one. The bitterness has become pretty prevalent again, too. Those aren’t even the feelings that are really bothering me, though.
The thing that has been bothering me the most is the sense of longing that has returned. To be honest, that particular feeling has been lost to me for a lot longer than a month; I don’t think I’ve felt it or anything similar to it since I got out of my post-breakup-I-need-a-rebound phase a month or so after my last relationship ended. So it’s been like, a year.
And it feels bad. Seeing people of the opposite gender in that light again just feels bad. I had gotten so used to completely not giving a shit about any of that stuff that actually wanting to be with someone hurts. And it hurts in so many different ways, too. It hurts because I know it’ll never happen. It hurts because even if it did happen, I know I wouldn’t be happy. It hurts because I feel like I’m being selfish by having these feelings. It hurts because my confidence is so low that the mere act of seeing someone who I would even potentially be interested in on a romantic level triggers this horrible barrage of negative self-talk. I automatically talk myself down so as to avoid getting my hopes up. I also talk myself down because I feel like it’s unfair of me to worry about whether or not a person is interested in me when the reality of the situation is that they haven’t even thought about me in that light for a second. It’s like… by worrying about it in my head, I’m creating some sort of imaginary situation where the idea of romance would even come up between me and this person, and I feel like even humoring that imaginary situation is wrong and misogynistic and terrible and I fucking hate myself for doing it. There. That’s actually where all of this leads. It leads to me being fucking disgusted with myself, as I should be. God fucking dammit.