Ruminating Hypersensitivity

All my life I have had bouts of pensive melancholy. Emotional bouts, that are more often than not, triggered by seeing friends happy and living out their own personal lives and adventures, even people I wish were my friends. Happiness personified. This might be why I keep to myself. It hurts. It really pains me, and all this emotion coming from seeing simple photos. Overstimulation perhaps. I think I am a hypersensitive. I’ve never been able to help this unshakable feeling for some reason, and I’ve brought it up to my GP before but right there on the spot he told me I seemed like a well-adjusted person who didn’t need any prescription medication. I didn’t agree with him at the time and I still think his instant brush-off was naive for a general practitioner. Here I am trying to handle and make sense of these feelings with my thoughts. Maybe I am well-adjusted? During such pensive moments, like the one that caused me to write this (to write whatever “this” is), my mind avoids questioning why it is I feel inconsistent levels of depression to instead entertain philosophies of life and death and the purpose of me being alive. No one I know or loves knows the ways I think or how much I feel, so I believe my only three options are a) avoid any and all social networking sites (“social” my ass)and those awkward catch-up conversations b) continue to philosophize the consequences and benefits of premature death at dangerous levels of deep-seeded thought, or c) figure out who I truly am, and just ride out the waves of emotion, one swell and crash at a time.

I know, and I’m not afraid of knowing and acknowledging this, but I know one of these days a trigger so utterly beautiful I can’t comprehend living up to will trigger me to give up trying to find meaning, purpose and love in my life. The ultimate unattainable object of desire could shatter my beliefs in all I’ve ever known. Personally, I do think I should have died years ago, because I’ve been feeling this way for so long now. Unused. Nothing but wasted thoughts. An ant in a machine.

Bottom line: I am hurt by other people’s happiness. Happiness I do not have. Beauty in their lives I want to have a part of. …I hope I have no associated mental health disorder and thinking the way I do means something. “Genius requires a tinge of madness” sort of something.

Today’s trigger was a photo of a girl I fell in love with. She is so beautiful, and I don’t know her at all. But still, I feel. Stupid. So trivial. Can someone, anyone tell me why? Why the fuck do I get like this? There has to be a purpose for it, other than my theory of it signaling death. I don’t need to be here for my sister and brothers to live on. Maybe my death is supposed to enlighten them with a lesson nothing else on earth can teach. Maybe death is the ultimate gift we impart to the living. *

We all have our secret battles to conquer. Happy new year, people.


~ by Fionnlagh on January 1, 2014.

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