Amarte Duele.

I know, I should really be studying for that awfully important astronomy test tomorrow, but I am taking a break right now, only because I really just feel like writing to myself...

I always find it humorous, the way I really do seem bipolar. My loveable asshole friend is right in that sense... he always tells me that I'm either too sad all the time, or too strong-willied and happy to the point that it bothers him, I guess.

But the depressed part of me is always there... it always has been, for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, I remember it not being so intense... but I remember it being there. Every night I felt sad, I would go to my window and look out at the first star I saw and I would wish that someone could come and save me from my loneliness... or from myself. I remember there was even times where I would pray to God that someone would come along to find me, but the only real reason I did that was because my mother used to tell me that God was watching over me and had some sort of plan or some other false bullshit... Later on, of course, I realized that no matter how many years I wished or how many times I sat on my knees with my eyes shut tight and my hands in that closed position, I would never be saved. Of course this was when I lost belief in any type of god, and therefore was an atheist (I am agnostic now.)

Yet this was also the time where I first really felt how sad I could get... the first time I attempted to hurt myself; even to the extent of trying to kill myself. This was all around 6th grade, mind you, and the only grasp I had on the world at the time was through television, movies, books and the way I was treated by those around me...

As I tried to work with this depression, I instantly fell in love (friendship wise) with anyone that was willing to befriend me. I would do anything for said person, and was incredibly loyal. Long story short, no matter how hard I tried, each person would one day leave me abruptly, out of the blue... leave me with only confusion and cruel words. I used to mask my pain with the joke, "I must be cursed." This made me a bitter person, especially after that one friend (who I will never in all of my life forget) left me. I became a cold, angry, broken person... and yet I still lived on to be the person I am today. Of course there is much more to the story, but that's all for another day.

But I recall during all those years, I did see the pattern of the people I befriended, or even became lovers with. The person would initially be completely infatuated with me and after a long time, I would feel like we would be together forever... and yet, they would always grow tired of me and leave. Of course, by logic, I would always come to the conclusion that there was something wrong with the one part of the equation that was always there in each scenario: me. I've tried so long to overcome this, because I know that I've always been myself, and that's all I'll ever be... so people will continue to grow tired of me, I suppose...

Even now... I see these people that have left me... and they seem so much happier without a Liz in their lives. I can't help but cry each time... because I'm never really happier once the person has left, which means I'm the weaker one, generally speaking. ...It even saddens me that to this day, because I still look up at the stars, well-knowing they cannot grant my wishes, and whisper under my breath, "I want to be happy..."

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The More Loving One

W.H. Auden

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

That, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn

With a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am

Of stars that do not give a damn,

I cannot, now I see them, say

I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,

I should learn to look at an empty sky

And feel its total darkness sublime,

Though this might take me a little time.

Bittersweet Symphony

Oh, Irony.

You have such a wicked bite.

It's laughable, really. I've felt this way so many times before. Even to a much worse extremity... and yet, every time it happens, it still feels new. Like a fresh wound in my chest. That same throbbing pain that takes over my entire body, causing my mind to become irrational and clouded... And of course, there is never a cure, no. It's the same as dealing with a cold... you just have to eat chicken soup and wait it out. But of course, I'm a vegetarian, so I can't deal with a cold the same as everyone else... and I suppose that logic works the same with my heart.

And of course...

What better way to end than this?

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Why Is The Rose So Pale?

Heinrich Heine

Ah Dearest, canst thou tell me why

The Rose should be so pale?

And why the azure Violet

Should wither in the vale?

And why the Lark should, in the cloud,

So sorrowfully sing?

And why from loveliest balsam-buds

A scent of death should spring?

And why the Sun upon the mead

So chillingly should frown?

And why the Earth should, like a grave,

Be mouldering and brown?

And why is it that I, myself,

So languishing should be?

And why is it, my Heart-of-Hearts,

That thou forsakest me?

[The Heart Nebula]