Books are deadly weapons which could render you dead.
I'm just kidding.
I am unquestioningly disturbed by unhappy endings.
At least, by this one in particular.
I just can't handle the emotions it potrudes within the walls of my fragile heart.
It seems to heavy to carry at the moment.
...and what makes it worse is I do not know how I'd deal with all these (emotions).
......and worst is that I'd have to buy the book that would render the ending complete ('cause, unfortunately, it's a series -and to really finish or complete the story would require me to buy the next book which I have no money for at the moment but which I want to read NOW because the urgency just calls for it. Also, the person I want to talk to the most about it -not simply because she lent me the book I just read but because (as I'd like to believe) we have a different way of discussing and conversing about things which keeps our relationship sufficiently "healthy" and just plain wonderful!- is hard to contact during the weekend!)
By the way, I have a habit of using words whose meanings I'm not extremely sure of when I'm in a state like this. The spur of the moment just brings them about so spontaneously I can't help but let the words flow out without caution nor means of prevention.
Insert a very long and heavy sigh here -and imagine the matching expression- here!
I'm in a fury of emotions right now and I'm working on it such that I won't only keep the emotions at bay, still having traces of it within the walls of my bursting heart, but rather, in such a way that the feelings roused up by reading the book would only seem like a reminiscent evanescent distant memory of the past that I look back at wistfully.
I wish that would happen now.
That the emotions would be soothed by now.
I can still feel traces of it lingering in the depths of my heart.
It's all there, swimming around, surfacing and resurfacing.
Trying to make themselves distinct while I battle all of out by the defense mechanism of repression ...even before I fully acknowledge what they are, even before I actually discern what they could be
This has always been my problem, trying to identify what I'm feeling.
I don't even try to identify it because of fear of recognition and the revelation it would bring about.
As I said, I try to supress it even before it it makes it self known.
I guess, you could say, I try to kill the symptoms first to prevent the forthcoming of the real "illness" itself; to prevent it from even coming to its full blow.
I wouldn't want that.
I can't even handle the symptoms.
What more the real thing?
It'd kill me.
(Ok, those words seem harsh. I don't mean it in the literaly sense. I'm not suicidal. Don't worry. I just know deep down though that it would send me to a real panic.)
I'm partially happy that I am able to put into words the aftermath reading books usually affect on me.
For so long I did not even attempt doing so out of doubt that I would ever find the most appropriate words. And perhaps, because most times, it wouldn't come to me as spontaneously as it did tonight.
Thank you, God.
I'm in desperate need of music.
It's the only medicine to my chaotic emotions.
Inspect the lyrics:
Suits perfectly a nuts like me.
"One day I'll be ready to go see the word behind my wall."
World Behind My Wall - Tokio Hotel