Self Preservation

I feel like a drama queen a lot lately. Not on purpose, I don't need the added attention or for my life to be difficult. But when you feel something so intensely your heart is melting in your chest, your blood is skipping in your veins and your breath comes out in pulses, people see that, and that tends to draw a little attention to yourself. 

It sucks to care so much about someone. Anyone. Parents die, children grow up and hate you, friendships fade and lovers aren't perfect. People are bound to disappoint and hearts were made to be broken. 

But right now, the thought roaming around in my skull is how terrified I would be if someone very near and dear- the top eight (or ten, twelve or fifty-two) of my life, you could say- were to get hurt in some way. Even just the stupid little stuff I want to feel for them. Their stubbed toe is my stubbed toe, the hangovers, embarrassment, parking tickets, and shitty days at work I take on like my own. 

Am I being too sensitive? Do I have the right to feel so responsible? It's selfish in a way, to think that you have to take care of those you love like that. It's a mockery of self importance to title yourself superman, savior of the world. 

But the thought that the last few days events has brought back to the front and center of my brain is one that I used to fear for a lot in high school. It would hit me in the middle of a hug, or while I watched him play with his friends or tell a joke and then just laugh and laugh and laugh.

If anything were to happen to my baby brother, I would loose my mind. Literally and fully. I couldn't live. 

I don't want to care so much about people. I don't! If I keep myself so open and vulnerable, I'm bound to get hurt. I can't spend my life coddling and trying to protect everyone. I feel like I'm stretched out like a sheet pulled tight at the corners into a makeshift tent, the kind kids make in livingrooms to hid themselves and all their stuffed animals under. I'm trying to cover everyone I know, from my roommates to the lady who sells flowers outside the scientology building and everyone in between. But the sheet can't cover everyone. It pulls and tears and frays at the edges and I just get tired. So I don't call back... mock strangers... let friendships fade.

I am just too sensitive. 

But I think the world needs people like me, to balance out the cynics. They have their place too, the selfish, self-preserving people who hold their hearts close to the chests and kiss with their eyes open. 

Sometimes I wish I had the ability to be like that, even for a few days. A week of not giving a shit who gets hurt, because, hey, people get hurt, right? It's all part of the circle of life. But even when I pretend to be like that, walk by the bums smelling like sweat on the street, roll my eyes at something cute, bitch at my mom, I feel like a faker. I can't get the joy from that sort of stuff that other people can. 

I'm not talking about me at my worst though. Sitting here with my blood swimming with alcohol I didn't need to drink, I'm remembering all the times in just the last twenty-four hours I wasn't very nice. I know I'm being a little hypocritical saying that I care so much, because it's not even possible to be that way 24/7. But know that it's def something I strive for, even in the worst of times, to be as good - whatever that means - as I can. Spread the good karma. Shine a little sunshine. 

At the end of every paragraph while writing this, I've taken a breath and thought, "that's enough." but it hasn't been. I think it's enough now. I've really been enjoyin blogging. It feels good to purge myself of all the murky, oily junk smelling up my soul. And this blog, of all of them, has been a good one for me. I needed this.