Dazed and confused

I'd written a whole post here about what I was feeling like... 4 hours ago. And I don't recognize my own words. Everything seems different, seems... false. I don't know. I don't recognized the things I have written about myself these days. They always seem to me a little bit "too much" after a while.

I used to like to write about myself before. It felt genuine... and I always had the urge to do it, the egocentric need of knowing myself. And I'd spent hours and hours doing that. Today I'm much more cautious and worried about it. Because it seems to me that I end up being the things I write. I end up being that momentaneous version of me, which, by definition, is not me.

I'm not pretty sure about what I am feeling right now. Maybe a little grateful. For life. I'm living now that moment when everything seems to be in its perfect place. For some time, obviously. I never get to have a feeling that goes on. I'm never satisfied with anything. I'm always feeling different kinds of things about the world, and life, and everything else. And that bunch of antagonic feelings contains the apatism, as well. The feeling-nothing I'd just written about. But it's all a version of me, and that's all. Nothing that comprehends me as a whole.

I don't know. I just felt like I had to edit the post, because I don't really feel bitter. And I can't make myself feel that. I can't. I can't do that just to make sense, to be understandable. I'm through with forced feelings, forced sensations, forced reactions. I'm completely done with that. That's probably the reason why I end up leaving all the time: I just can't bear the version of me that I created to someone else. I can't put up with it. Because nobody (and I hope I don't really mean nobody - in a perfect idealistic world) will ever understand me as a whole. Unfortunately.

I feel like much of what I said is a complete lie. Ok, not a complete lie, many facts are true. But not the way I put them together. It didn't make perfect sense after a while. It didn't express what I really am. And I feel I am something. I feel that I'm living. I'm not bitter. I'm not unhappy. Maybe too lonely sometimes. But definitely: I'm not in a grieving process. I recognize the beauty in the world - maybe in a too ludic way sometimes, too foolish, but I really do. And I'm enjoying living. I'm not dying. Sometimes nothing makes sense, but I'm still very interested in knowing things, in living. And I had to leave for the last time to get in touch with this side of me. Because unconsciently I was taking responsability for something I ended up not being. Now it hit me: there was a reason, after all: I am too fucking honest with myself. And I'm in love with doing that.

(And yes, I recognize the fact that this post may sound a little bit too cheerful and false, eventually. But that completely identifies me now: being free to reinvent myself. Because I was tired of being just one thing. And that, unfortunately, happened in every single relationship I was in. But I'm done with the philosophical analysis of my uneventful life. I'm completely through with that).

Now I just feel I'm ready to go on, despite the fact that a part of me will be left behind. With you. But I had to do it. I kind of owe that to us. And now I'm fully taking responsability for what I am.

And I'm officially closing the subject. I've got nothing else to say.