There are so many parts to me. How do I properly explain? I believe when is born they are this single piece. As you grow the pressures of maturity, of Life, begins to crack that once singular, innocent, uncorrupted piece. You become a series of fragments like the tectonic plates of our world. My heart, my core, that which drives it causes these pieces to shift. There is a true roiling within me causing my parts to grate painfully against one another. I am a series of conflicts. I want to love, be open, but I’m overly protective and cautious. I want to be spontaneous but can’t help but to plan for the unknown. I want to be more, to reach for the stars…but I’m afraid of falling, failing. All these tremors, these pressures that cause me to quake are so strong…they paralyze me with rigidity. When people see this calm exterior they think I’m at peace. I’m content with myself. If they could only see the true source of my placid exterior; that I have frozen over.
It is enough to drive me insane, this inability to find complete control over myself. I am so disparate. I can feel myself splintering and those shards painfully pierce my soul. I am suffering, struggling to hold this crumbling me together. But what is me? There are extremes tearing me to all corners, no moderation, no unifying principle. I must commit fully or surrender completely. I do not believe in compromise. Either one must take the whole or reject it.
I live a life of whims but struggle to instill some order upon my life. I can sit for hours dreaming up the life I wanted to live, want to live, plotting out each minor detail down to the names and futures of my unborn children, the lives I would touch, the lives their lives would touch. I do not think in fragments. I must follow a dream to the end: build it, dwell in it, and then demolish it. I want that complete and total god-like authority. And yet…I want to be vulnerable. I want to be at the mercy of someone, anyone, who I can trust. I need that acceptance and yet I don’t believe anyone worthy of it while likewise believing myself unworthy of anyone. I hate you all, all of humanity…and yet I have faith in you.
You are all so much compromise, so many things crammed together that it is impossible to see a coherent picture of you. You confound me…and that draws me in. I want to understand you. Perhaps in that I may understand myself. I want to touch your lives but you won’t let me.
It is all enough to split my skull, the images rushing so fast through my head the friction leaves me feverish. How I wish to turn myself into an ideal and to discard this mortal substance. I don’t want to be me. I want to transcend me. I want to become more than this limited, disintegrating thing.