A Four Letter Word

sLove is a four-letter word.
I keep having these horrible dreams about my friends. I mean, not horrible in the sense that something bad is going to happen to them but horrible in the sense that my friendship with them is ruined by something that happened. But the thing is, in my dream, I feel like the perpetual victim but, in actuality, the fault is all mine. I used to have issues with feeling too much for people. Feeling too possessive. Feeling too attached to people. And then I got hurt over and over again. From then onwards, I didn't want to trust anyone anymore with my feelings.
Sure, people say that it is better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all. However, I feel like I'm stuck in the perception that it's the other way around--better to have never loved than loved and lost. I know I'm talking about love but it all comes down to that, doesn't it? It's not that you either love them or you don't...no, it can never be that simple. It is more like to what degree you love them. That's where my dilemma lies. I have loved, to some degree, all the people who have made some impact in my life. But I'm stupid to love. It is stupid to love because then you expect to be loved back. And that doesn't always happen. It hurts more to know that you were never loved back. I'd rather not know, I think. Which is why I don't wear my stupid bruised heart on my sleeve anymore. Why I shy away from people who want to know me better. Why I appear aloof and sullen behind this wall of stoicism. Most people don't have the patience to find the "me" behind the wall and I suppose I don't make it any easier for them. The more they get closer the more afraid I become. Why should you care anymore? People just take advantage of your kindness. They take all they can and they sell the rest....like stupid frickin Blue Bell Ice Cream. I sound bitter. He he :)
I wanted to be a robot at one time. I didn't want to feel anything anymore. It is when you desire things that you feel disappointed when you don't get them.
Man. I sound horribly depressed. I'm not really. I'm just trying to make sense of my emotions. I was telling C.K. the other day that I have all this stuff trapped inside of me bursting to come out. She said you have to let go of your barriers. At the time, I didn't think there was a drawback to releasing your feelings because you then have unconditional positive regard for people. However, the drawback to letting it out is that you expect a little back. Is that so wrong? Sure, there are the few enlightened souls who selflessly give of their love and benevolence and want little or nothing in return, but I'm not there yet. At times I try to be, but then I am reminded, by these stupid dreams, for example, that I lack something. Like there is some kind of void that needs to be filled before I move on. Filled with what? I don't know. Perhaps the idea of my own self-reliance and sustainability?
You should never use the word "love" like an added bonus, something to go on top like a cherry or sugar sprinkles. Love should be the food that sustains you. If I say I love you, it is because I mean it.
Love is a four-letter word and can be just as harmful as the others. Use it only if you mean it.
That dumb dream last night made me cry like a sap even when writing this dumb melencholic entry. It is difficult to think that you give away a part of yourself...a part of your heart away... and it is just tossed in a box like some forgotten toy. Or perhaps ignored and stomped underfoot as people waltz all over the room oblivious to your existence. Or used as a temporary surrogate for something or someone else. Or even dissected piece by piece until there is nothing left but a faulty hypothesis.
Damn. I need a neuroleptic. Good night everyone.

Priorities

I DARE YOU TO READ THIS. I DARE YOU TO WRITE ME. I DARE YOU."Where yo priorities at, girl?" I don't know. Things have been really screwy these past two semesters. Sometimes you have time to write but you just don't feel like writing. Or you feel like writing and don't have time. I've felt that way since May, daggnabbit! Well, I've neglected you long enough I think....left you on the back burner long enough to feel burned....I think that recently my priorities have been all flip-flopped. Money didn't matter to me, now it does. Friends in high places didn't matter to me, but now it does. Social prestige didn't....now it does. Success didn't....now it does. Is it America, I wonder? Would I have been destined to be a non-sinner in India? Or is it age? As we grow older do we become horriblly unidealistic people? My spiritual life, once a great font of joy and wisdom has slowly deteriorated into a few words murmured in the midst of some crisis. What matters to me now?? What matters to me anymore?? I search for love as the elixer to all my woes and find it not. My friends mattered to me and they still do. I always have had time for my friends but now.....relationships aren't nurtured anymore. They pass along the wayside like the much forgotten chaffs that time leaves behind. I want to write. I want my words to fall onto these pages like tears. Tears of all that I've kept within for so long. Writing is catharsis for me. Writing is my SCREAM, my CRY, my PAIN, my ANGUISH. Not many people understand that. Sometimes I try to forget that I understand that. If I could write epistle after epistle to all the world, I would. Where are the people I really cared about? Why is "out of sight-out of mind" such a true phenomenon. I NEED TO RANT AND RAVE RIGHT NOW. I NEED TO LET IT ALL OUT.I MAY NOT BE BEAUTIFUL ON THE OUTSIDE BUT DAMN IT.....i am.Well, I realized recently that I'm not most people's "type" in terms of physical beauty. Kind of sad. Who's"type" am I? Why am I attracted to handsome men? Shouldn't I have learned that I'm not physically good enough for them? You'd think I'd learn by now. My friends say that they want to help me find a man. What is this? The SAVE-L***-FROM-A-LIFE-OF-LONELINESS campaign? My parents encouraged me to put up a matrimonial ad. Which I did. It hasn't helped. I must be hideous or maybe be i'm too "special". I short bus must exist somewhere for me. Yea, I know....cheerful me and an outrightly depressing entry: it just doesn't match up. Happy people hurt too. See my heart....? It bleeds like yours.