Tag Archives: feelings

I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.

Sylvia Plath (via fromtheweirdtotheinsane)

This is how I feel, and a part of what causes me to panic.

Sometimes I become nearly overwhelmed with nostalgia. I am happy in the here and now, but those rose colored glasses.

Memories are tied together tightly, to music, to photographs, to each other, and I hold tightly too.

Los Campesinos! and Memories

The weekend before last I went to a Los Campesinos! concert at Lee’s Palace. I went with three guys, a friend of two of his friends. We went out to eat first, they all seemed like pretty cool guys. A bunch of engineers and a dancer (I am an engineer, I mean, I wish I had that type of coordination.)

The concert was a beautiful thing.

Performances always make me feel so vividly, I was overwhelmed with emotion before it even really started. I felt really close to the people I went with, despite having no right to. It made me feel vulnerable in a way that almost matched the music. But that was just the beginning.

I say that I feel deeply, and I am being honest. There is something so exhilarating about live music, about the voice of the crowd, the surrealism of being there in a room with the people who created something you love, who wrote songs that spoke to you.

As an extrovert, something about crowds of people crushed against one another singing and cheering and moving is incredibly exhilarating. Especially when I’m separated from so many of the people I love right now.

I mean, there’s a reason I got my first kiss at a concert.

Another reason I’m really glad I went with the guys I went with is that they were as excited as I was. Probably more excited even in some cases. We got there early, we were at the very front, we danced and jumped and became a jumble of thrashing limbs riding on the wave of the music.

Someone actually tried to crowd surf. One word, FAIL.

I didn’t really anticipate how strongly the music would bring me back to my first semester of university, falling in love, gaining independence, exploring a new city. It reminded me of anarchist books about traveling Europe penniless, and shy phone calls, poetry slams and running through the grass in the middle of the night, gleeful laughter and painful confusing and delicious hesitation.

I kind of just wanted to be held. And the crowd held me, so to speak.

The next few days I felt myself longing for the connection, I felt a loss for something that was fleeting despite its strength.

I got a ride home that night, and my three friends went off together, I know that they were just sleeping on the floor in a house too full of people, but it felt strange to leave them after sharing the best concert of my life. We hugged hard on parting.

The thing about good things is that they don’t feel quite real afterwards. The moments were so intense that they feel imagined. Drunk of the energy of the crowd our words perhaps were not as sincere as they felt when spoken. I hope not, but wondering makes me long for the connection I felt in an achy sort of way.

It was a wonderful time. I’m grateful I was invited to something so special, irregardless of the past or future.

I didn’t want to miss any of the experience by pulling my phone out and taking photos (it was sort of hard to get at lodged in my sock/shoe) but I found these videos of the actual concert I was at. Something I love about the internet.

It always shocked me when I realized that I wasn’t the only person in the world who thought and felt such strange and awful things.

John Green

I promised I’d share personal things, so here it all is.

When I get hurt I feel like this: I feel dread, and panic. Fear of the unknown, suspecting the worse. I feel like holding on to that last shred of hope despite the fact that it will prolong the hurt. I feel my feeble self-esteem plummet like a rock as insecurities set in. I feel like begging for things to return to their previous state. I attempt to pretend that it’s not all over when I suspect the end has been reached. I pretend this is the exception. That things will change. That the future will bring a magic solution. But even in my head I know these are lies. I feel like honesty is easier then any other time, because what’s left to lose. Words come easily, clearly, truely. I feel mistreated, led on. I feel like eternity won’t bring change. I feel nostalgia. The past seems like a dream, and even yesterday turns fuzzy. I feel despair. A guise of friendship is like aesthetic, but tomorrow will seperate cliche and truth. I feel an eternal battle of sorts. Certain things suddenly feel unattainable, unreal, lost. And this writing is raw and unpoetic. There is no rhythm or flow, just an underlying chant of ‘I thought this time would be different’. However this writing does not to be perfect to suit my purposes. It doesn’t even have to be good. It just says that sometimes feeling suck, but sometimes it’s better to write them out then to hold on to them. They are nothing to feel ashamed of, or to hide. There is no reason to pity me, for it takes bravery to tell your truth when you feel vulnerable. To share your failures. To put yourself out there at all. That is empowerment. And when things don’t work out it sucks. But that’s okay, and it’s all a part of the great balance of things. I am learning, living, growing, and it is not worth it to regret. Learn, move on, remember.

Now you know who I am.