Just...alone

First of all, I want to apologize. This blog started off on a fairly hilarious note, promising hilarity and good observations galore. Instead, you have been inundated but spontaneous questioning and the wayward thoughts of a mildly conflicted adolescent. I have nothing humorous to offer you at this instant, but I shall ndeavor to add variety to this drab and depressing collection of consciousness.

Now, to the point.

Sometimes, you just want to be alone.

I mean, sure people are great for providing support and good advice. They can give you guidance and direction when you can't see the lighter side of dark. But, not always. Sometimes you can't even help yourself. Whatever you want to say, whatever you wish you could say is swallowed up by the intensity of the moment. So you may think about inviting another into whatever you are experiencing, but then the fear, the doubt, the reality of your conjured depravity sinks in and the thought of revealing this other side of you to another is nothing less than horrifying.

Granted, this isn't always the case. Sometimes, you just want to be alone to process the moment. That's fine. That's healthy. People don't always respect this fact, but when you can get that time alone to process, you can come out on the other side better than you started.

But, that's not what I mean here. I'm talking about that feeling that is so beyond your comprehension that you lack the ability to do anything but feel it. Not just that mental flurry of association whenever it pops into your head, I mean that insistent pressure on your chest. It hurts. Actual, physical pain. If the seizure in your chest wasn't enough to pull your attention away from everything else, you might have felt your heart pounding in your ears, noticed your breaths shortening, realized that your arms trembled just the slightest bit.

To let anyone into this personal prison would be, in a word, unacceptable. Unthinkable, impossible, pick your word.