I destroy everything I touch

"You are like destroying me in the first place, and now you're watching me lick the wound that you made on me."

Gosh. How many times have I heard this in my life? Numerous, countless, infinite times. It is so goddamn familiar, I'm disgusted with myself.

It never struck me how destructive I can be until I heard this oh-so-familiar remark.

I literally destroy everything I touch. It's like plasticine - I toy with it, I knead it, I mould it, I sculpt it into something I want, mix some colours into it, treasure it with tender loving care - and then I destroy it to smitherins with a smash of the fist.

I hate this. I hate my fickleness and indecisiveness. I know what I want but what I want varies on my mood...I guess this is how it is when my Moon is in the First House.

There I go again, on the verge of breaking another person's heart while causing irreversible damage to my own affections and considerably reducing the possibility of giving wholeheartedly anymore.

The night I got tipsy, that fateful night, was the night when I said (and cursed, and grumbled, and whined) too much and revealed how heavy my load, my heart and my world is. I need to feel light, like a parachute, a bird, a thread, a feather...but my heart is heavy because by hurting people, I have undoubtedly hurt myself too. By constantly pushing and pulling, I have perhaps lost something that might have been (Hang on, didn't I do this with R as well?).

Over the years, over many, many years, this self-defensive mechanism has grown so bloody strong; like an impenetrable fortress, it is my facade for the wreck that I am, one who is extremely, extremely prone to falling deep into an endless pit and never climbing up again. So I have to protect myself and by doing so, I destroy everything around me.

And I reckon I'm not the only person around who's like that.

Live and let live, some say. Are you sure though? Are you really, really sure that the weak species that we are, can live and let live despite everything that might crumble upon you every so often? Are we, or rather, am I really THAT indifferent? Well, according to her, yes. I am so indifferent that if I ever started caring, pigs would fly. No joke. I need to shed this mask but I just don't have the guts to - it's almost as if it's become a part of me. My alter ego perhaps? I should give it a name then.

I do care. Sometimes I'm bursting with so much emotions but I contain and conceal them well enough for people to think I don't give a fuck..and when it's too late, I crawl out from hibernation and say: "Hey, I DO give a fuck! I give a big bloody fuck! Listen to me, will someone listen...and understand where I'm coming from... for fuck's sake, please?!" I hear myself screaming in my head. I really do; it's no joke and it gives my heart palpitations.

Man, have I got issues. What a coward.