Early Morning Rambling.

When it gets to the wee hours of the night, as in, three thirty am, I begin to feel either unbelievably inspired, or dead to the world.

On this occassion, I’ve had a lot of coffee.

I probably should have had it, but I have. I was up late arguing politics, first, and watching Star Wars. Talking about Harry Potter, and acting out plays. And then I got a Coke, opened this screen and have added at least three or four posts. I don’t know anymore. But I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about how to deal with emotions. It’s a curious topic that I first approached with a neglected-turned-serial-killer teenager character, and recently found myself repeating in real life as well.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that life isn’t perfect for anyone. And dealing with emotions can be quite stressful. Dealing with anger caused me once to break a fridge. Happiness, on the other hand, can be approached with ice cream and bubbles. The same ice cream is applicable for depression, for sadness. Why that is..I am not sure. Ice cream is a staple for me; and it’s as useful when I’m hyper, need to become hyper, or depressed. If I’m upset, I’ll accompany it with a movie of Love Actually and the old teddy bear my Aunt gave me, so long as I can dig it out of the closet. Dealing with raw hatred causes both terror and anger in return, and an intense vulnerability. When green-eyed jealousy is involved, both sadness and a bitter edge create tension that frizzles the air. And when the yellow cowardice approaches, it is most likely in friends that you look for strength and help.

In my very limited experience, I’d never have broken a fridge, or stored up long forgotten affection if I’d allowed myself to think and feel what the emotion is I’m experiencing. It’s never easy, even if you’re emotion is happiness. Emotions seem to travel in packs, never the same exact thing for everything. The point of view can change, and the perspective alters the story. And as I ramble, I remember slowly how mad I was when I hit that fridge and knocked off the shelves inside it.

That terrified me.

It’s a common phrase enough, “strength you didn’t know you had”, but it’s hit home with me, in several different ways. If I had allowed myself to feel these emotions, then I wouldn’t have been so unbelievably badly off all the time, right? I was always sad over my heartbreak, and simultaneously mad at myself for doing so; seeing as how I was the one that had ended the relationship. And I couldn’t have done anything about the move. That was out of my control completely, but that move ripped my life apart.

It changed who I am as a person. That nasty distance stole people that I loved, and left me with very polite girls, none of whom ever ran around a yard with me. Not one of them had gotten stuck in a baby swing. They had interesting facts like “I live on ‘Shakespeare Street’.” Though I learned more about them slowly and concluded that it was unfair, it was my immediate impression. I was pissed off about it. I needed, and wanted, my friends. I wanted my family. I wanted so much, but seeing as how neither was a successful task, I slowly grew addicted to writing and the internet. While I don’t find anything bad about it persay, it is a drastic change in my life. I’m not that sure where any of this fits in, particularly as my eyes are finally drooping [coffee had to run out sooner or later..]…but I know, at least now, that burying or resisting emotions is never the way to go. Let yourself feel.

Because only if we experience the lows, can we experience the highs.