Thought Overflow

Until recently, I was a different me. Different from you. I didn’t know for sure what that meant, but I liked it. I crave for perfection, and yet I loved that I was that stain that stands out against a background of a perfect white sheet. I was the bane of my own existence. Now I’m coming to peace with myself, and I’m not sure if I love it or hate it.

I’m growing up, learning to live within boundaries. I was, earlier, neither here nor there. I existed in that space between your world and mine, because I was alone, I was me, I was unique and no one else would understand. And that was ok. Because I had me. Now, apparently, I want more than that. I want you. Tell me I’m ok. Tell me I belong, I fit, because you control me.

Well, balls to you, and to me, if it has to come to that. Let the music build up in a deafening crescendo, let the neighbours awaken. And sigh. And yell, and tell me to tone it down. I don’t want to, but my enemy is not you. It’s me. I am choice—my own. And I am responsible, in more ways than I want to be. I want to face the consequences of my recklessness without the fear I currently feel.

It’s frustrating how much I want to be rid of you, and yet I need you, somehow. I want to go into a room without windows and smoke until I can’t see in front of me and feel my eyes burn. I want to yell at the top of my voice, and yet the conservative me wants to drown it out with music, for fear that they will hear.