the imperfect perfectionist

*me *
Yanee
05/01
On my stereo: Justin Timberlake's Summer Love
Mood: Erratic

"Aye"
indie rock, alternative, pop rock: smiles: hugs and kisses: soccer: chocolates: Nike: teddy bears: touch rugby: babies: rock-climbing and bouldering: soft and pantene-smelling hair: my well-worn Levi's: Adidas: white, blue: short nice hair: Elmo, Oscar the Grouch and Cookie Monster:

"Nay"
veggies: swallowing pills: high heels: skirts: not knowing what to do: mess:

*wishlist *

a bit more freedom
PSP
new laptop
more clothes, for goodness sake!
new phone
an orange scrambler
makeover my room

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Pain. I feel it.

Cause everybody feels pain.

If you don't, are you as human as the one feeling the slightest of it?

Pain.

So many types of pain.

There's the type where a prick of a needle on flesh sends blinding pain, even for the strong-hearted... fear?

There's the one where you just feel like no one else can feel the hurt as much as you are... self-pity?

There's also where you feel pain just by witnessing someone else's pain... empathy?

Then, there's the pain where it feels so good, you can't stop... self-mutiliation?

So, how do you know just when to feel and when to stop?

Just how do i stem the pain?

How to stop being an over-emotional basket and start being someone strong, for a change.

How?

"Maybe we like the pain. Maybe we're wired that way. Because without it, I don't know; maybe we just wouldn't feel real. What's that saying? Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop."

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<~ perfected ~>
@ |11:19 AM|

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