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Endlessly Caving In.

Yeah, in case you hadn't already known, I'm a Muse fan. I stole this post's title from their hit "Hysteria". Seemed relevant--maybe because of its (ludicrously gorgeous) video.

See, today I woke up with (yet another?) musing on obsession. And this video screams, to me, OBSESSION. Exaggerated, of course, but it's there. There's also the breakdown and the rage.

I was thinking how much obsession can hurt, immediately begging the question "So, why obsess at all?" The answer may be self-evident, but still important and relevant to other hurty things that plague my life.

Those of you who've followed me know I can get obsessive. Less in a stalkerish way, as in the Hysteria video, and more in an OCD way. Like, I just can't let go of stuff. And it sucks.

In April, you may recall, long-held feelings for a guy I like surfaced and clung viciously to my consciousness. I could not shake them. It hurt. It was frustrating. I was even frustrated that it still hurt and frustrated, even after all this time. And it sucked.

As I observed then, part of why I clung to it even despite the rough parts was that glimmer of hope--hoping itself, even--that felt so good. Even when it hurt, it felt so nice liking him, wanting him, even imagining how amazing and rewarding it could be if only....

In my case, my frustration largely comes from my own cowardice. For all these ideas and dreams of liking him and wanting him and imaginings, I've never really stepped up and done anything about them. I mean, I have, a bit--meekly. But really, at the end of the day, it's my lack of balls as much as any indifference or spurning me on his part.

But that rage.... So much of my frustration with guys is summed up here, and now here's a guy I really, really care about. And besides that--I'm frustrated that I'm frustrated. I want to let this go if it means it won't hurt any more, but somehow I don't want to.

So it makes me want to scream. No, not even; man scream? Roar. That's the word. Just out and out roar, muscle flexed, fist through a wall, maybe. Probably not the bit about the wall. I dunno--it's a little hard to describe. It's like this deep down grrrrrrr. Like, I kinda wanna break something. Or, more likely, fuck something--er, someone. Really hard, too.....

Anyways!!--this brings me back to the Hysteria video. Apparently there's some reality check happening. Unlike the dude in the video, less out of being a violent stalker/voyeur than just realizing that, despite every Disney movie and romantic comedy, love doesn't just happen; simply wanting someone doesn't make them want you. You gotta do something, and then it's all grounded in the in the muck and mire of the real world, and that shit's scary.

But why so angry?

Obsession, I think, is a form of control. As is fantasy and resentment. All those things put me in a position of power, and apparently I like that. Very much. I covet it.

They're also, especially obsession and fantasy, a position of safety. All the threats and insecurities of real life can be put aside while I pull those nice feelings of imagined happiness closer to my heart and keep them there.

Which is why those inevitable reality checks facing the guy in the video and me bring such frustration, anger, even rage at times. You're taking away our control, our safety.

Think of the guy in the Hysteria video: even when he has the girl in his room, seducing and stripping, he's still watching her through his camcorder. Granted, part of that's contrived for the video's black and white flashbacks, but it speaks to me. My case seems less exciting--for all my anger, I'm not gonna smash a tv or freak out.

No, it's something much more basic and ordinary than that.

Because every time I talk to this guy, I get scared. Really nervous. I keep it pushed deep down inside, of course. But I ramble--worse than usual--, I dominate the conversation--worse than usual--, I fail to ask him how he's doing--also worse than usual--.

I want him to like me. I want him to notice. I want to make him realize what I have. But I can't even ask him to coffee properly. So I end up a freak, likely. For all my bravado and composure, it turns out I'm only human. A human who wants to love and be loved, as any other person might.

What am I so scared of? Rejection? What he might think of me if he really saw me, if I actually put myself out there? Whether we're even ready for any of this--whatever this is or wherever it might go? And how presumptuous that is! Is it any wonder I've gotten so ahead of myself?


My luck, he'll read this somehow, and reverse engineer his way to realizing it's about him, and--instead of being impressed by the depth of my ardor, the compulsion of my feelings, as he would be in any romantic comedy or Disney movie or fairytale fantasy--be too weirded to even speak to me. But this post isn't about him. It really isn't.

It's about me. And growing up, and what I want, and whether I'm willing to take risks for it. It's about me and what really matters most to me.


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