Self-Diagnosis

Right.

I think I know what my problem is.

I've already established that I have a bad habit of running when things get uncomfortable. Well, basically, *that* is my problem. For a supposedly emotional creature, I don't really allow myself to feel. I let myself be giddy with happiness; float high above clouds and all that shite. But I tend to run at the first sign of anything negative. It's fairly obvious when I watch TV - if the main character has to go through disappointment or embarrassment of any kind, it takes all my strength to keep myself from switching channels or bolting out of the room.

This, from a person who genuinely hates all the cutesy fluffy stuff Disney has to offer.

I run. I run, or I suppress stuff. When life throws me a curve ball, I look away from it and distract myself with other things. Very unhealthy habit. Because ignoring or running away from said things don't really make them go away. If anything, it has the potential of making them stronger. Instead of facing up to them the moment they appear, I turn my back, and so they join together with whichever new shite comes along, and then I have twice as many demons to contend with.

I should allow myself to feel. What am I afraid of? I'm not going to break.

Maybe I'm afraid cause when I let myself feel - I *really* do feel. But I tend to be sadder than most people because I let things pile up. Maybe I should stop doing that and gather up the courage to stand my ground and face whatever's coming.

I mean... Fuck's sake.

But even Timelords run. Why can't I?

Oh, the ones that ran away. I never stopped.

- The Tenth Doctor

My Catharsis, All Mine

So I've not blogged in... quite a long time. I've actually got no one to apologize for but myself, or perhaps this blog who has probably been feeling quite lonely. I haven't visited this blog for so long that Google Chrome doesn't even auto-complete the URL anymore. That, I find quite sad.

It's just that there was a lot of school stuff that needed doing, and I've had to churn out essay after essay after essay, so now writing feels like such a chore. I've gotten A's on quite a few papers though, so I guess that has to count for something.

It's not just that, though. I think the main reason for me not posting anything here is... I'm running. Running from my own thoughts; afraid of what might come to the surface if I start jotting down the superficial ones.

Running. Bad habit. If only I could be arsed to do it in a literal way, then perhaps it'd be more productive.

There are days, however, when one realizes that the running has to stop at some point; that demons must be faced and dealt with. That, or one may simply be out of energy. I don't know which stage I'm at. Could be a combination of the two. Either way, I've decided to face the feckers.

With writing comes catharsis. But the process isn't entirely painless. Writing helps bring order to thoughts that otherwise mull about aimlessly on the surface. But organizing those reveals the even wilder chaos that lurks beneath. Few are brave enough to face that chaos willingly; I am not one of them. I run because I don't want to glimpse whatever is hidden in the recesses of my mind. I don't know what I'm afraid of, really. Compared to most people, my personal demons are not particularly vicious. But that still doesn't change the fact that I feel like bolting every few seconds even as I write this. Every bit of me is screaming at me to go do something else that is more fun - something mindless - anything. Just not this.

I'm listening to music to drown out the protests.

I've also stopped updating my diary. Another bad habit. I've got plenty of diaries from years past that were just discontinued quite abruptly. Then one day, I feel well enough again to pick up a pen and write about my life, and then the process begins again. I feel like this is a cycle that must be broken.

What is it with me? What is it that I'm so afraid of? Sticks and stones can break bones, words will never hurt (except they can), but thoughts can drag one down in ways one can't even begin to imagine.

What am I afraid of?

I don't know.

I just run. I try and keep myself busy, but the thoughts catch up eventually. And dark thoughts have a tendency to become even more vicious when one tries to suppress them.

I wish this update could be cheerier. But then that wouldn't be helpful to me at all, would it?

I knew there would be a price to pay for me choosing to take Philosophy. It's always like this. One has to take the madness that comes with the nuggets of wisdom. It's a wonder my philosophy teacher hasn't gone insane. Oh, wait...

So what am I afraid of?

I know who I am and I know that might (and most likely will) change. I know what I'm capable of and what I am not. I know that some memories hurt; but just like ordinary blades they will eventually dull and lose their ability to cause pain. I know that everything changes. I know that no matter how much I want to hold on to old things I have to learn to let go. I know all too well the pain that comes from watching (or worse; letting) opportunities saunter by.

I know, and I feel.

What am I so afraid of?

I should maybe stop running. One must stand still in order to kick asses.

Old quote, but I feel that it fits.

An artist is a creature driven by demons. He doesn't know why they choose him and he's usually too busy to wonder why.

- William Faulkner