HOW DO YOU FEEL, CHARLIE?

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Feelings, I don’t really know what to say about this particular affair, or where to start. I find this subject even more complicated than the C code. I’m 20 years old and I still do not have a sheer idea about mine. I don’t even know if it is normal to feel that much emotionally blank or almost disinterested in my entourage or do I have some issues. My emotional artwork seems to remain bleak. People say that your feelings define you, these are a part of you. If that so, my insides must loathe me. Every now and then things around us change, and we being an adaptive being comply to that. But does that goes the same way for the one’s own self? Is it normal for the feelings to change? Is it ordinary to have amorous feelings one day and combative the other? As judgmental as it would sound I sometimes I consider myself a phony. It might be possible that none of these things are usual and I’m simply just flawed. Might this be my dark side? We do all have one. It’s possible that my darkness plays emotional incapability on a loop for me. Alright, I cannot justify my emotional dilemma with the above mentioned sentence, there’s obviously more to it. I’m an emotional puppy. I cry. I feel a lot. Both of my statements contradict and so does my existence on a daily basis. I almost started to believe that the shoulder devil and the angel do exist and they play a gamble daily and my mental stability goes as collateral. Touché Girl! But I also play my part. After all, I’m not quite a watcher myself. I also torture them with an ample amount of crap. I experiment with them as if they’re some unvalued lab rats. I make them watch the tragic stories and I restrict them not to show the emotions. It goes both ways. Unfathomably shit? I do know. And I do torture myself by not allowing myself to express anymore, the amount of feelings I repress can make a whole well-functioning human being. Sometimes I do feel like crying like a little baby, shouting all the air out of my lungs and not doing it builds a weird kind of pressure in the chest. It feels so bulky. Stupid enough to sound, the weight keeps me going. I might die someday with a stroke but it works for me this way. It’s easier to repress than express. People may call me a stone or a lifeless moron but this way I feel safe. All to me. Feelings expressed might leave you disintegrated but till the moment you keep them to yourself you’re just respectfully whole. Explanations take the life out of you, and may leave you for a dead living being. Here goes another contradiction. Well, I and contradiction goes hand in hand. Do you?

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