I've re-read my post from last night several times just now and it leaves a question lingering for myself: Why is something so beautiful as love so shitty? I mean, I'm not renegging on anything that I said in that post, but it is plain to see that my passion for everything, for life itself, is causing me a lot of confusion and strife. I don't get it. I really don't. I think I have gotten to a point where I believe that love is so powerful, so wonderful because it forces you to examine yourself, forces you to face your demons, forces you to be uncomfortable...because we're not wire for love, I believe that. It's not a natural thing. It's something granted by God to bring us closer to Him, and because of the fact that it is a super-human thing being crammed into a human body, it's very very uncomfortable, claustraphobic even. But I have found that the things in life that are uncomfortable, the things that are painful even, are the best things, at least in the process of our growth as emotional human beings. My mother's death, my unrequited love, my trying to give up belief in God, my being stuck in Yellowstone National Park, my flying to Europe with no idea what to do, my near-death experiences, all of them -- I would never want to willingly face those strifes again, but I would rather do so than be the person that I was before each of them. Each of those uncomfortable positions have forced me to re-evaluate my life and make me make the changes that make sure that I never felt that way before. And I have become a better and better person, a happier person, at each of those steps...even the ones that have permenantly scarred me. This, I feel, is another one of those moments as I am very, very uncomfortable in my skin right now (and not because of the dry winter air). I can't really even describe it. But, assuming it doesn't kill me, it will make me stronger.