Misery

Misery is a self inflicted disease. I think. So I'm to guess that I have inflicted upon myself my misery. What ails me? What is it that I've done to myself? I, too, have been asking.

First I fell in love. Supposed to be a beautiful feeling, puts you on top of the world and makes the skies blue and the sun yellow. At least that is what I've been told. Nobody told me about the ache in the heart, the trepidation when you've not heard, the, sometimes, bad decisions you may make, or even the feeling of inadequacy when you are sure you should have done something you couldn't.

What about that time you wake up in the morn get on with your job and finally realise that you've just spent the whole day not communicating. Who knows about those days you want to talk yet you are not sure you should intrude. Where does your space end, and where does hers begin? When can you intrude and when can you not? Who has the answers to these questions anyway...

Second, because I was in love, I did something that might have been good for others, or might have not, and yet it hurts. So does that make it good because I had good intentions, or bad because it hurts? Is this something that can be answered or is it just endured?

Third I have too many questions. Self analysis is a nice thing, where it gives answers, however can be a very frustrating thing where it raises questions. And questions I have raised in plenty. Am I a good person? Is she? Am I on the right track? Is she? Thinking further what right do I have to ask these questions? when did I give myself the right to decide for others what might be good for them? Yet it is that very quality which makes me what I am. The ability to let somebody be themselves, and yet accommodate them in my life. Not a very manly quality I've been told.

Yes I'm miserable. and only I could have brought it upon myself...