between our foreign hearts

i have never quite developed an addiction to anything other than escapist measures. if i find something that allows me to run away from myself and other burdensome things for a few hours, i become strongly attached to seeking those opportunities, especially if those things that bother me are pretty significant (subjectively speaking). in effect, it makes me upset when i know said opportunities are unwise to use as a constant method because, for me, rationality will always trump desperation.

if i weren’t so dissatisfied with a lot of things right now, i probably wouldn’t have any reason to feel this way.

so:

i’ve been incredibly unhappy for the past several months now. there was a switch. i can’t pinpoint it because whatever it was was compounded by other things, current things, things that i am reluctant or not ready to let go. i don’t think about them all the time. i am capable of (temporary) elation, of laughter, of stars in my eyes so bright i might mistake it for something permanent. but it hurts when your happiness is dependent on something you can’t identify - not because you can’t or don’t already have an idea, but because there’s too much of it or because you’re too afraid to acknowledge it.

i keep making the same mistakes because i feel like once or twice is never enough. sometimes not even a hundred if i feel strongly enough about it. i have no reason not to learn from them the first time around, really, but i feel like i need to make sure of them - that i’m not making a mistake by assuming they are before i’ve trialed them endlessly.

i feel like this is why my actions never match up to the things i say. something’s going to give eventually, and i’m not sure which one is going to go first.

i wish i had continued french out of high school, or i wish i had maintained an interest in it in those four years instead of thinking it unnecessary. being multilingual is something i only aspire to be, and i am extremely envious of those who are.

so i consider it a blessing that one of my co-workers and manager at my new job can speak french. i would love to improve - maybe not to speak it quite as well, but at least be able to write and understand it as though i were fluent.

maybe i’ll do what i did with korean for a while, but at least french seems more doable for now. :)

it is so on. whoo, i am excited! it’ll be my first time in vegas as a full-fledged adult, and i guarantee i won’t remember anything when i return. at least that’s the plan, but i’m also old, so i might come back with broken limbs.

in the last few days, i have taken up the habit of writing down certain thoughts that come to me. they’re not profound in any way, but they’re just the sort of things that you end up thinking about and keep coming back to because you need to relish the way you process things, or maybe you enjoy the self-torment.

it’s honestly amazing how often i think of things, how repetitive those thoughts can get, how desperate they sound, like i’m pleading for something that has no rationale behind it. but at the same time it’s an exercise in being honest with myself. i can’t count how many times i’ve withheld things from myself because it was as though writing them down meant acknowledging how real they were or how small i felt. but the more i force it, the more i trudge through and convince myself that it’s okay to feel a little sting now and again, it’s almost easier.

certain things come out in these few and frequent minutes of free association. i find myself writing what seems like a novel, put the pen down, and then picking it up again seconds later, and i’m like, “christ, really? can i shut up now, how much more do i actually have to say?” and then, of course, it turns out that i can’t mute myself and that it’s useless to even try. during these moments, i’ll exhaust myself to the point of aggravation, and that’s usually the time where repressed thoughts come bulldozing through.

some of them are really distressing to me, in the sense that it never occurred to me how strong my opinions and feelings can be if i wasn’t constantly trying to censor myself from feeling a certain way. things i wouldn’t have ever considered about somebody in every day interaction turn out to be grand revelations. there was this moment i was writing about somebody - or, rather, to somebody (because really, these are letters to people as i see fit), and it was just like, “i fucking trust you, isn’t that weird?” it came out of nowhere. i didn’t actually realize i felt that way because truth be told, it’s only been a recent development where we’ve interacted a bit more. but despite the recency, it was so easy to feel that way, which is why i thought it was weird.

not all of them are as nice, unfortunately.

i used to joke a lot with my friend that i needed to feel “this” way again because it was the only way i was inspired to write anything, to draw upon little dramas and immortalize them in fiction or journalistic endeavors. and of course we laughed about it and poked fun at the way i sometimes actively looked to get hurt, but now that i’m a bit older and just a tad bit wiser, i have to say that there’s nothing inspiring about this.

except for the fact it really is.

in a way, it’s that tiny optimism, that fraction of amusement i’m garnering from this experience, that’s getting me through everything.

so there’s this philosophy that i abide by, where i like to appreciate the little things, like dust motes in the sun or the way a flicker of a smile appears on someone’s face just as someone turns their head away, and you’re the lucky one who got to see it.

and it’s funny how those things just make me sadder nowadays. all i want to do is rush past everything. it’s not that it makes me sad, really. but you know how everyone has some seemingly insignificant item in their possession that suddenly becomes increasingly important as soon as it goes missing? as if that loss somehow magnifies how precious something like that could be to you?

yeah.

a joke was made, something that probably wouldn’t have bothered me if - you know … except given the circumstances … it did. and i guess i’m doing this to identify the issue. because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? identify, accept, heal. or something. like it was easy to brush it off for a while, but then now i’m alone and waiting for the meds to kick in so i can ignore it. :|

the problem i have is the way these two issues are closely intertwined, even though each has its own root cause independent of each other. for the most part they stay separate, but then there are those fleeting moments where i can’t untangle them because one led to the other - not that there’s any blame placed, just that the events and the way i reacted led to the other, and now it’s a whole mess.

you can’t get upset towards people who don’t know anything unless you tell them, right? but in a selfish, irrational way, i just wish i didn’t have to say anything and that it’d just be understood.