The Hammer Song & The Tower Of Pain

Obliviousness, it is something that we yearn for. Not being able to feel anything. It is a blessing, really, to be able to go through life without a care. But some of us aren't that lucky. Ignorance is not bliss. It never was. Maybe when it is overshadowed by innocence, but not now. Not at eighteen. Because when you try so hard not to feel anything you realize you've hurt some people without even knowing. I used to think that when you ran away from your problems eventually they all came back and the speed at which they reached you is too powerful to control. There has been a lot of thinking, a lot of analyzing, a lot of feeling. I began to enter this emotional corner inside myself so I could figure out just what the hell I was doing. And then it all dawned on me. It isn't their fault. It has never been anyone's fault and blaming them will never make it true. It wasn't Jelly's fault, she was trying to help. And maybe I would've understood it if I hadn't been so determined to push everyone away. It is when you truly feel alone, like no one is looking at you. And you're so scared you can't speak. And it's weird and you hate it. I collected the small pains I wanted to throw away but couldn't, so I put them all away and into big boxes. I was flying so high that I didn't let anyone's consolation reach me. I forgot how to feel pity, how to act upon it. The kiss was a mistake. Plain and simple. The repercussions it brought came at a higher price than the kiss itself. Did I do it merely to piss off Jelly? No. Actually, I do not know why I did it. And that smile in my face wasn't satisfaction. It was a mask that fitted my face so well it became it. So I had to get rid of everything nasty and dangerous. Everything that was wrong, wrong, wrong. And I had to apologize, because it stopped being just about messing with Jelly. If I was willing to go to such lengths without feeling any kind of remorse then I had a bigger problem. Still, I can't apologize to Jelly because I haven't apologized to myself. And that takes time. It's what I've been doing all month. Going to sessions, talking, crying, letting it all out so I can understand. So I can accept. No more running, no more hurting, no more believing a lie that it's not. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think it would help, and it seemed to be time to learn to accept help. And I'm sorry.
Well, at least some of us had a happy Valentines' Day.