one.hundred.forty.five

a friend of mine asked me a question yesterday that i am still carrying in my pocket:

"do you trust your emotions?"

the three second silence which preceded my response said more than the answer i gave. the answer can only be no. i haven't always been happy with what i do with my emotions, but it seems that making positive steps to change how i react to, express and demonstrate my emotions has caused me to dissect and subsequently doubt the emotions themselves. this defeats the purpose of my pursuit. not good. especially not good because passion can not share a house with doubt.

i have always been a passionate person. i have often kept it silenced in a corner, and perhaps that is why i have nearly always exploded into romantic relationships [where passion is required] with pent-up fervor not always belonging to the man i attached it to. well something has to give, because the only person i'm loving right now is me; and i deserve all the heat and light the fire in my belly has to offer.

how do you rehabilitate a passionate person living with an addiction to reflexivity that once helped and is now harming?

i know how, and here is what i'm going to do.

i'm going to don my 'fuck it' cape.

i'm gonna feel every dirty scrap of emotion that i collect from the streets of my life experiences, and if they make me want to scream then i'm going to holler at the highest frequency my voicebox will allow. life is a messy, overlapped, colour outside the lines, bleed through the page to the page underneath kind of game. i want to play for real.

so seriously: fuck it.

not because i don't care.

but because i really do.