Writing limitation

Recent events were quite amusing.
Yet again, woke up, drinking my morning coffee, contemplating on the situations that are happening, how they affect me, and how to fix them.

These past few days was a total mayhem of random situations. Met new people, old friends contacting me suddenly, ran into some unexpected new troubles, got out of some, soul spilling confessions were had, realization of reality, and everything in between.

My phone was buzzing most of the time, but I couldn't answer any message because of two reasons. 1. I was sleeping and 2. I don't have any money on my tab to reply to messages and calls.
On that matter, I seem to have gotten myself entangled into someone elses love quarrels. Out of curiosity, I helped a stranger's soul but that brought only more unnecessary problems for me. I tell myself: "Don't be a good guy Dex, don't help anyone, you'll only bring misfortune to yourself." Which it did. Now I have to balance the situation and act as a psychiatrist on both ends. I think I might be masochistic in that regard. I hate problems of emotional causality but....I seem to be drawn to fixing it. And I will fix it. So I guess a couple of "up for some coffee" messages will be in order as soon as the sun comes up.

Interesting how time seems to be precious for people that know me. I constantly complain how I don't have anyone in my life and out of irony, my phone constantly buzzes with people calling me out to hang out. Which in most of the time I just delay it, because I don't want to transfer my mood energy to them if I'm not feeling up for it. That seems to be very important to me. I can bring down the most happiest person in the world. But I can also pick up the saddest one of them all. It all depends how I'm feeling the situation.
I worry about other people's moods most of the time. Because they're depended on me as much as I am of them. I could explain that by saying something along the lines of: If someone of no major importance to me, calls me up and is down about something, why would I sacrifice my already low mood with some more depression for someone that won't help ME out, but just keep calling me until I can't help them anymore.

That can be fixed thou, but it takes a lot of patience and time. because, every time I implant a part of my good energy, they'll keep it and return it back twice-fold. But it's a very long process and all it takes is a positive starting point energy. Cause, effect, and consequence.
I help out someone -> someone helps out someone else -> etc.
But there always seems to be some negative asshole who fucks up the whole equation.

I also wanted to note my place. There's no place like home, right? True, true, I'm grateful I have a roof over my head, a beasty PC, several rooms, bathroom, kitchen, comfy chairs, amazing bed, all the little things that most people don't have. Yet.....I'm not feeling it. This place doesn't make me happy. In before bombarding me with judgmental thoughts about "Dex, why you so full of shit, you're richer than most people in your city regarding what you own, yet you're still being a faggot about it", I want to note that it's not the material parts I'm complaining about. It's just....I'm not feeling comfortable even at my own house. It's my home, but it's also not my true home you know? Something is missing. No, it's just......no, I don't know, it's just a feeling I can't exactly pinpoint. You should live where you feel most happy. This place brings anything but happy in my mind. Maybe I should relocate everything in the rooms again. Move some furniture and what not. Change things up. But will it help? I did that 15times already. It just gives me a temporary satisfaction of a good change. But I need something longterm. I'll figure it out.

Recently an old friend pointed out my behavior towards everything. In that sense I'm glad that he picked up courage to tell that to me even thou I already know it. Yes, I've became bitter, yes I've became more quiet, yes I've lost the will to shine in a cosmic good mood, and yes, I'm not expressing myself at all. I know I've became a shadow of my former self, but his point is that the weed did that to me. That it fucked up my brain so much that I won't open up to anyone. I'm afraid that's not true. That only increased my need to express. But what DID fuck me up are people. I don't open up because I'm afraid it's a bad idea, people could exploit that and then ruin me more than I'm already ruined. I've been hurt every-time I opened up. Learned my lesson and now people see my self put chains on my heart and mind, and they don't like that. Well, if you don't like it, you should have treated me better. I'm noting again that I have a MASSIVE need to express myself and not in a sense of proving something to others, it's about proving something to myself. If you're feeling uneasy with me, that's because I'm feeling uneasy with you. I can fake the feeling of comfort but deep down it's just a foggy dirty reflection of a true emotion, and when I express that emotion, you'll feel it whether you want it or not. There's only a select few that get the privilege of me being completely relaxed with them, and those even aren't the people who've know me a long time or shared a long term closeness with me. There's something to think about.

I seem to be having limitation problems about my writing, I can only say so much before getting the feeling that I've gone overboard with long speeches and texts. Which in turn prevents me to talk more about stuff, and can only point out 5% of the day and my thoughts about that situation. I'm avoiding the serious long-term contemplations because if I start to talk about that, it will be walls and walls of text. And since I don't want to trouble myself or any reader with my over the top thought essays, I'll keep it on the low go because this will be a good thing for me and others. Slowly easing in my story, my life, and my all.

Welcome to the place between love and hate, a place where logic and imagination come to clash, a place of what if's, a place between the two worlds.