All of the Things I Was on the Inside

I'm one of few people who actually can feel the full spectrum of emotion. Now, you may believe that you have felt the full spectrum as well, but I don't mean to be rude or self-indulgent when I admit that I highly doubt it. See, my argument depends on your grasp of reality when you experience one of these. How bleak does the sky get when you've lost all hope? Do the children down your block appear to be dancing as they walk home from school when you're overjoyed?

This happens to me.

When I'm sad, I am at the lowest low. I rarely remember feeling happy, even if joy had only escaped my body a minute prior to when her counterpart, sadness, slid in.

But when I am happy, I feel I radiate. Don't confuse this with sparkling; my life is no damn Twilight novel. I glow, much like the sun shines. My green eyes look brighter to me, and my friends' eyes do the same. My favorite is blue eyes. When the light hits them just right... my knees become jello.

And I sigh. Love and infatuation. I fall hard. And the bottom is far below. You can ask my ex, though I'd much rather you ask my current love. You see, he has blue eyes, and he understands that when I feel a feeling, and I feel it hard, I commit to it. I give my all, I surrender my body, my soul, and the emotion takes control. Although I do have this unhealthy obsession with being in control, I lose it, and I don't plan to or really like to.

I don't think I know a different sort of love besides the passionate one. One could call it self-destructive, but one doesn't want to. It's a holding-so-tight-almost-smothering love. Yes, it's an exhausting version that I adapted at a young age from my parents. You know, Catherine/Heathcliff sort. I digress.

I pray you never know betrayal or hatred. These two destroy your insides, and I promise you it feels as if your heart and your lungs have been set afire. When I felt betrayed (this happened twice in my lifetime), my mouth moves and words fly without any permission from my mind. My hands tighten into fists that could break bone, I'm sure of it. I mean, at least it feels that way. And hatred eats at your soul. She clings for as long as she possibly can. This is the grudge that takes hold of your stomach and twists.

Of course, one should question if being enveloped into any particular emotion is healthy, but why is there a norm? Why should my behavior be decided by spectacle-wearing men in white lab coats?

Or maybe the real question is why do I feel this way?

The Girl

So.

I'm a pro. I know exactly what to do to attract your kind. It's all extremely meticulous: the height of the heel, the length of the skirt, the amount of makeup, the shade of hair color...

You don't even know there is a trap set when you wander into the bar with your friends. When we make eye contact and exchange our initial smiles, I know you're hooked. I may not be the most beautiful or sexiest woman to have ever conversed with you, but I'll make you believe I am.

The rhythm of my voice, the number of times I laugh, the way I turn my body toward yours, the amount of times my hand sits on your forearm or knee...

My dear boy, you don't realize my actions are all a part of a ploy to gain your attention and break your heart. You see, I am the woman who will make you distrust all women. I will be the example you use to defend your misogynistic actions in the future. After I detonate your beating time bomb of a heart, you will be sure to rip out the hearts of many. You will lay these poor hearts to waste, all in the name of justice.

Or revenge.

Dear boy, I will become your Eve, your precious Delilah, your lady Guinevere. Because I made you love me, you will allow others to fall and purposely not catch them before their frail bodies crash at your feet. You'll simply walk away.

After all, where were no strings -- no pulleys, no suspension, no bungee cord. I hadn't offered you any, so why should you be gentlemen-like to these women you only wined and dined to trick into your bed?

You had a few laughs, and she thinks you're getting serious? Silly rabbit.

Blink, dear boy. You'll see we are not in a bar at all.

We met in a sandbox.

In high school.

In a college frat house.

In the grocery store.

At your brother's wedding.

At Coney Island.

In the hallway of our apartment building.

Dear boy, I am your excuse. It is very nice to meet you. Now you'll never be able to forget or forgive me.

And the funny thing is that I won't even know that I had done anything wrong.

Where do you want to wake up?

If someone walked up to me and asked, "Where would you like to wake up? The answer is limitless," I hope that I can one day give a simple answer.

"Where I am. Tomorrow morning, in my own bed. I'm happy where I am right now."

I wonder if I will ever reach that point of my life. Will I ever be satisfied? Will I ever be fulfilled? Will I ever not carry regrets in the crevices of my emotionally driven mind?

Today is the anniversary of my life in Brooklyn. Exactly one year ago, I moved to New York City with the help of my mother and my ex. Now, I love this city, and I love living in an outer borough, but I wonder what would have happened had I made a different choice. What if I had traveled Europe for four months instead of moving here? What if I hadn't allowed love to influence my decision? What if, what if, what if...

I want to live a life of no regrets and no "what ifs"; unfortunately, I have too many.

But on the other hand, I am not dissatisfied. I'm glad I'm living on my own, away from the dismal city known as "The Cleve" by 30 ROCK fans. I have a good job, until September, and I have a great apartment, with no counter space and an unruly toilet.

I'm not sure what brought on this sudden lack of fulfillment. I suppose I just want my life to be meaningful. I want to be meaningful.