one of my favorite parts in the book i am reading right now...
sometimes i worry there's something wrong with me. sometimes i worry i don't actually feel things regular people do. often i am watching the world rather than actually living in it. it's not just that i feel distant from the world. the thing that worries me is that a lot of times, i feel distant from myself. i watch myself like i'd watch an actor in a movie. i think, i observe, i process, but i don't feel anything.
have you ever felt that way? have you ever sat at the funeral of your great-aunt, for example, and worn a solemn expression on your face and tried to tell yourself that the ways in which it was sad, without actually feeling sad at all?
have you ever met somebody who said, "oh my God, that's so funny!" all the time, but never actually laughed? i'm worried that's me.
when my parents split up when i was in fifth grade, i said all the things a sad kid says in that circumstance. i even wrung out a few tears. when they got back together ten months later, i shared in the happiness. but for me it was or at least into believing i felt something - but it didn't come naturally. the emotions certainly didn't rush over me like a wave. i was heir eager host, never their victim.
maybe that's really lucky; i don't know.
but the flip side of experiencing pain abstractly i that you experience pleasure that way too. sometimes heather and i will be eating a romantic dinner together or making out in the park, and it feels really good and everything, but i find myself wondering if i'm missing out on something.
i think this is the reason i can't get over gaia moore. i think it's the reason why i'm intensely attracted to her and repelled by her at the same time. when i'm with her - when i even think of her - i feel things. i feel a wave brewing just out of reach, building and swelling into a breaker of dangerous proportions.
so maybe you an see why i have mixed feelings about getting close to gaia. i'm not sure i want to lose control. i mean, who would willingly turn himself into a victim?
maybe that's what love is - i don't know.
- - fearless (francine pascal) pp248-250- -