Maladjusted

It's fucking painful. One might ask, where? And I wouldn't even know how to answer that. 

So why do I cry and where is exactly is this pain coming from? I sense a vague feeling of a ball up on my throat and my tears start to fall, then my heart aches for moments. I cry like a child would, feeling all the helplessness and surrender and the pain of wanting that something that I can't have. And if I may continue, like Morrissey sang, And it's driving me mad - it's written all over, all over, all over my face. 

Last night, words floated up my mind and caught it before it could drift away. We are all addicted to pain and there is nothing more that we crave than the truth. Even if it hurts. It's sad. I feel no more different than those who are in a rehab for chemical addiction. And the sadder thing is, I'm so sober and I am going through this.

The source of my pain is no other than the one who loves me. I chuckle at the memory of a past love, there was this time we were playing and I pinched him and he almost cried because of the pain and I told him, Love hurts. I guess this is life telling me, right back at you Caye. Well, fuck you life. 

Moments ago I contemplated whether I am ready to move on. I almost decided that I am, but decided against it instead. I am in no way stable in all -cally's of the human and societal aspects, and for practical reasons I think it is better to stay in this rut for a little while. 

I received a comment on my post that I mentioned that those who adapt to this behavior are plain maladjusted. Maybe I am. Or maybe because I simply don't have a choice in this matter that will not cause me to suddenly become a beggar or a desperate person which would put my baby's life in a not-so-comfortable situation.