Sometimes I'm so desperate to feel something, anything, that I'm willing to do things others deem crazy, irresponsible, humiliating, just to get that rush of emotions, any emotion. I guess the absence of them hurts far more than any amount of pain or humiliation my actions could bring...
The things I resort to, are probably all that and more, but what I realised today is that all this time people have been judging me on the basis of those acts, while it should have been I who judged them. Their reactions, to my cries for help, say a lot more about them then they do of me. The responses differ from person to person. Yet the patterns I've witnessed point to the fact that there are usually two kinds of reactions. Either they see through the selfdestructive act and start to sympathize or they start laughing...
I haven't really decided which I hate more. Both tell me a lot about the person. Actually they tell me all I need to know. And to be bold and honest, both kinds of people have no place in my life. At least not in a real kind of way. There is a third kind though. I believe they exist. They have to exist. Because if they don't, well, then I'm prety much screwed. Because here's the thing. When I jump, I want them to jump as well...
