Fear of adjusting the volume, fear of creating a new recipe for a new pain. I love being deceived. I love feeling alive, I love being human. And being human is not an easy recipe, mostly chemistry, we are so frivolous, so small, so fragile, but what strengthens us is... I don’t know.
I’m going to write my feelings: it’s summer, it’s hot, staying at home because it’s my safe place, my place of trust, I don’t have many friends to relate enough to go out, I don’t consider myself "friendless" or "lonely"... I just have a small, comfortable group of true friends. Debate, conversations, preserving feelings, I love that, I love talking, I love the small gestures that come with "socializing," even if it’s an awkward silence, the presence makes all the difference, knowing there’s someone there, someone human who understands the common logic of being human, who defines being present for themselves or for me or for the world. I miss that, being at home doesn’t do anyone any good, I WANT AND NEED HUMAN CONTACT. My screams aren’t loud enough to carry the idea of leaving home and finding someone, I wish I could, but I need to plan, I need to improvise, contradictory ideas are me, I want to go out there and run, and walk, and feel the sun/rain/wind and the other elements that make nature a cure for strong and fragile minds. The kind of contact I’m looking for isn’t characterized by type, it’s not talking to family/friends, it’s the emotion that comes with the unknown (better known as fear of the unknown), I want to talk to people I don’t see in my daily life, crying inside or outside doesn’t make any difference, I just want to feel that someone I don’t know and have no trust in can handle the pressure that comes with me and the trust I’m willing to give. I don’t ask for the world: they don’t need to talk, they don’t need to give signs, they don’t need to look, just... being there is enough to stimulate me, fill me with pride, fill me with satisfaction and pleasure. Not in a sexual sense alone... Satisfaction for being there, living their life. I can’t get to the bottom of this, I need mental health that I don’t have and will never have to endure a back-and-forth to the bottom of this, not a matter of dedication, once again: the unknown and what comes with it. Contact is satisfying, it reminds me of being human, it reminds me that I am me, that I am organic, that my existence matters to something, it’s healthy, the sense of humanity, in the sun, it’s torture, this is a miniature version of that, without the madness. And with contact also comes a sensitive but necessary topic to address: hurting, activating, damaging, touching, unfocusing, protecting, ripping. Basically, the sense of hurt, when someone doesn’t physically harm you, it’s exactly like a scab, it’s ugly and gives the impression of simply existing (an internal wound), but when you take it off, you feel satisfaction in the pain that follows, that is, if it isn’t completely healed or treated.— End —