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?