I hate my feelings.

I hate my feelings. It sounds strange, coming from someone who went with so few for so many months, but I hate them. I hate how they seem to control me. I hate how strong and unstable they are. I wish feelings didn’t exist sometimes. I either go months without really any feelings at all, or I get such an abundance that it’s annoying, frustrating, and overwhelming. I can’t deal with it. I hate emotions. I would gladly trade my feelings for rationality and objectivity. As much as I love to be spontaneous and disorganized, I’m drawn to stable and secure types. I’m just not balanced enough. I’m not controlled. I’m just not realistic at all. 

There’s no taming me. Not even I can control myself. People assume I always like a loss of inhibition. As if it’s fun being consistently insane, speedy, out-of-control. Of course it can be fun sometimes. Of course it’s an advantage sometimes. But it’s really not. Euphoric doesn’t mean happy, I’ve realized. Happiness is controlled. Happiness knows when to stop; it’s rational. Euphoria isn’t. Euphoria will seduce you right off a cliff. Euphoria will change who you are. It will keep you up at night, eat away at your inhibitions and self-control, and make you do things that you regret later. Euphoria makes you angry, arrogant, irritated, and moody. It makes you dizzy. You can’t stop euphoria. It’s delectable, tantalizing, and destructive. 

I long for the middle ground between hopelessness and overconfidence. Between having no energy to move, and having enough energy to end the planet. Where is moderation?

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