Thoughts on empathy, troubled rockstars, and falling in love

So, it was nice to talk about my trip to the Island, but I don't know how much more of that I'll be doing. I think I'll use this blog mostly for the purpose of sharing thoughts. Well, not necessarily "sharing" because I strongly doubt that anyone reads this. More like, getting my thoughts out there. In the open, where they are out and free and off my chest. Which is good, especially for me. Sometimes, I am so empathetic towards others I hold my own feelings in. I think empathy is the best and worst thing about me. I'm empathetic in a good way, in the sense that I can connect with other people, and feel everyones pain, joy, triumph, grief, what have you. My idols, people such as John Lennon and Kurt Cobain, were men who emanated a great deal of empathy. Especially Cobain. Which brings us to my bad empathetic side. Like Cobain, I sometimes feel so deeply and strongly for other people, it really, really hurts. It makes me sad and anxious, and makes me feel as though I have to deal with everyones problems. To make the person feel better, of course, but also to relieve myself of the overwhelming empathetic sadness that eats away at me until the problem is fixed. Empathy is my friend and my rival. It doesn't matter, however. I will always be an empathetic and in-tune person.


Perhaps that may also explain my taste in men.
Listen girls, The Jonas Brothers are okay, but they are simply much too fresh-faced, poppy, preppy, clean-cut, over-hyped, Disney Channel happy for me. I can't stand it when musicians pretend that fame is a glorious, flawless road, paved with gold and lollipops. Give me a break. I know fame is difficult and twisted. And I'm not even famous. Life itself is difficult and twisted.
Which explains why those Disney kids are just not the rockstars (for lack of a better word) that I'm into. My kind of rockstar is the weird underdog with the long hair and the thrift store jeans. You know, the kind that passes out on stage and is at the therapists more than his own home. The one who wakes up in a strange apartment without a clue where he is and no memory of how he got there, and who would be so much better off to just quit the business and live a normal life, but can't. Because music IS his life. I love the musician who is just in it for the music, even if it kills him. Because there's nothing else. That person is raw. And real. Real. That's what I need. That's what my empathetic little soul needs. Someone I can relate to. Someone who is real. Who shares my problems. Someone who knows that life is not all sweet and happiness, because it isn't.
And someone like that could accept for who I am. Someone like that wouldn't care that I don't look like that girl on the cover of Vogue...because we could relate. Understand one another. That would be all that mattered. Two empathetic souls. Together. You know that "I Need" list? There's really only one thing I need. What I really need is to fall in love, and for once, not regret it.