you want it all but you've got to give

This looks like a long post (and kind of is, really) but I promise it's not just a clip and lyrics of an awesome fucking song. You'll get the gist if you keep scrolling.

You dream a lot about yourself
And you dream harsh winds upon your friends
But you wanna kill the beast
That lives up in your head
And you wanna kill the beast
That lives to see you dead

You dream a lot about the beast
And you dream that it's never gonna last
So you wanna give your love to your sister and your friends 
And you wanna give your love to the one who's facing the end

You want it all but you've got to give
You want it all but you've got to forgive

Restore me, restore me now and make me sane
Restore me, restore me now I got to give up your ghost

You make me lonely

You want it all but you've got to give
You want it all but you've got to forgive

You dream a lot about the past
And you dream that it's never going to last

I've been thinking a lot lately about something a friend said to me not too long ago: You know what I realized? I talk about myself a lot but you don't really talk about you.

He was - and is - 100% right. Truth is, I'm a very guarded person. It's not that I don't know how to show emotions; I grew up in a house with parents and family who told me they loved me and more importantly (for me, at least), they backed those words up with their actions. I did the same for them and every time I've told them I love them, I've meant it. A couple Christmases ago, we were having a discussion about I have no idea what but at some point in the conversation, we got to talking about people who aren't terribly free with articulating their emotions. My father said to me, "you used to be like that a lot. Hide out in your room with your music or a book instead of telling people what you were feeling." And I did. It's not that I didn't enjoy being with my family or friends but I spent a fuckton of time hiding out in my room with my stereo or the book I was reading or jesus, one of a bazillion journals in which I was constantly writing. Because that's where I was comfortable. And the very first time I sat on my bed and opened my first journal was probably the first moment I realized how much easier it is to write words than it is to speak them. Paper doesn't disagree. It doesn't judge. It doesn't give knee-jerk reactions. It doesn't disappear if it doesn't like what's written on it. It doesn't decide, "hmm, maybe I don't care much what this chick's got to say."

People do.

My response to my friend's comment was, I tend to find other people far more fascinating than I find myself. It was an honest response but it wasn't a complete explanation as to why I'm not free with ... who I am in that friendship. That's an entirely different post but it boils down to the fact that the more I share, the greater the possibility "who I am" won't be ... accepted.

So I don't risk it. And I don't invest. And I don't trust. And it's fucking exhausting.

I do dream that nothing is ever gonna last. And I do want it all but I don't give even a tiny bit of it all. I make me lonely. And the only one capable of restoring me? Yeah. That's me.

I can easily hit the 'delete' button and erase keystrokes on a computer screen but there's no 'delete' button to conveniently erase thirty-two years of indulging in a habit which ... gets my nowhere. So, baby steps, it is. It's going to be fucking hard but that friend is going to hear the honest and complete response to his statement. Even though I'm most likely about to hit "publish post," immediately hit "new post," and write the piss out of what I might want to say, I'm not going to email him or direct him to this blog or memorize what I'm about to write in the hope that the 'real world' conversation will go swimmingly. I'm going to look him in the eyes and give him that response. I may wind up sounding like a blabbering, incoherent mess and I may not. It might be an uncomfortable conversation and it might not be. It's entirely possible it will come back to bite me in the ass and it's entirely possible it won't. And even though that friendship comes with a certain safety that makes my worries about the consequences of the conversation rather minimal, I'm still counting it as a step. A first one.

Actually, I suppose the first one is hitting the "publish post" button rather than the "kudos for articulating these feelings but you best keep them to yourself" button, huh?