This can be more than flashing lights and sounds.

So I've changed layouts again. Back to my original template. I still like this one the best.
I have also changed my blog title and such things. The Artist In The Ambulance is actually a song. It's by a band called Thrice. I don't really know very much about them at all. They came up on my Pandora...I think. Anyway. This song. I love it. I know I say that a lot. But this one kind of epitomizes a lot of things that I come to in this blog. About improving myself and making existence more than it is right now. Trust me. Shall I pull another Grooveshark? Yes, yes I think I will.




See? Isn't that AWESOME??

Okay. So there is kind of a funny connection between that song and my subtitle. I was listening to it...Artist In The Ambulance, and I realized that part of it sounded familiar. I couldn't figure out why. And I didn't really. It was an accident when I did. I was looking for something a friend of mine had said in a post on Facebook. And it was in that post that I found part of the lyrics to the song. That post also ended, "im no hero but dont think i didnt care". Under normal circumstances, the horrible punctuation would have killed me. But it didn't. I love that sentence more then I can express. I didn't tell the guy who wrote it that I used it. He'll find out or he won't, depending on if he reads this.
I feel like I should explain why I love that so much. But I can't really figure out the words for it. I'm trying to. I really am. It's one of those things that just kind of...hit you. And you can't describe it beyond that. If I ever can, I will. But that might take away from it's amazingness.

On to something else that has been happening. I forgot how much I like being touched. EEEWWWW sicko. NOT like that. (So I know that just means I'M the sicko. But whatever). I was holding hands with three different people in the last twenty four hours. I was held in someone's arms. It was nice. I mean, of course my family hugs me, and my brother holds my hand sometimes. But that's different. It isn't the same connection.
I think I have a problem. I've already talked about my constant worry that people only pretend to like me? Well I think this is connected. When someone is willing to hold my hand, or hold me, or hug me, or anything like that, I have some subconsious affirmation that they truly do like me. If you can touch me, if you can show you care enough to do something like that, I know that you are truly someone who is my friend. I will lose that assurance within a week. But still. I felt for a little while.
I think I know why this is. When I was...well. In my worst years, I suppose...I was never touched. Other then my family, of course. Not even accidental brushes. I was and alien, I was diseased, whatever the rumor was that week. There was a bubble around me all the time. The one friend I had--who did not attend the same school--would not, and still doesn't, allow physical contact for more then five or six seconds. I understand how she feels that way. It doesn't bother me anymore. Because she is the one person I can always trust to care about me. Once again, my family is excluded from that.
That experience, though, is the one that caused my desire to be touched. Like Tommy.

"See Me/Feel Me/Touch Me/Heal Me"

I think it was those same years that made me such a hard-heart. I really think they shaped me entirley. But my hard heart has been causing problems recently. I suppose you could say that I wish I didn't have it. I wish I wasn't afraid to care about...well. Someone. I wish I could just care. Like a normal person. Without thinking about how stupid I am. How much I don't need him, how much I am better off alone. Because my defensive instinct tells me that I should stay safe and alone. But that part of me that isn't so afraid tells me otherwise. And my head wants me to relax. My head wants me to care without being careful. Because I do care. More than is particularly healthy. But at the same time? I don't. The soft parts of my heart care, and the hard parts won't let me.
I heard something somewhere once that we don't love with our hearts, but with our brains and our souls.

Oh God. How TEENAGE GIRL!!! I hate that. I hate that SO MUCH.

Ugh. I have to end this now.

Oy.