Knowing yourself deeply is both a blessing and a curse.
I allow myself to read as much as I can and because of this I live much of life between pages, but this is the only indulgence I can allow.
If I were to allow myself to drink or do drugs, I’d be an addict. If I were to allow myself to take down the walls of my sadistic side, I’d scare myself and my partner. If I allowed myself to indulge my emotions, I’d laugh like a wild person and I’d cry until I dried up. If I loved to the fullest extent of my heart it would smother the ones I adore. If I spoke without sensor my thoughts would shock both liberal and conservative, judgemental and accepting.
I often feel like I’m an addict without an addiction, but only because I don’t relax. I keep a tight control wherever I’m able.
There’s a strong urge and desire to overindulge in life; to bite into existence until I draw blood. It overflows in a way I can’t explain and in moments I think the dam may burst I jump into a book; into a different existence, until I’m in control again. I do this for myself and for others.
I have always overwhelmed people. I’ve been labeled as “too much” and “too (insert adjective)” most of my life.
Truly; they have no idea.
What you see is a pond. What you don’t see is the width and depth of an ocean.
Be glad I hold back the tidal wave. Be glad I don’t relax and “just be.” The tsunami of me would leave you shocked, blinded, beaten, and breathless.