I haven't been thinking too clearly

I've been spending these past few days in a bit of a stupor, which I refuse to admit could possibly be substance induced. Moreover, I have convinced myself it is the bubbly reaction of deep feeling pouring into synapses, who, unbeknownst to them, drown in a fit of irrational passion that I accredit to one man, who probably thinks I'm crazy. If he does think that, he is definitely right. But personally, I prefer this kind of crazy versus the previous crazy I have dealt with, which found its form in blatant non-existence and anger. This, at least, although completely intangible and somewhat consuming, makes me feel softer around the edges and awake to the world around me, even if it has exposed a sort of raw openness that I sincerely tried to avoid. And as much as I continue to have to force myself to get my heart off of my sleeve and back to being locked safe behind my ribcage where it belongs, I can't help but be honest about everything, even though most of what I feel is kept quietly in my throat, like some kind of acid reflux or bitter indigestion, and refuses to show itself. Which is frustrating, as I can feel it pressing against the very bottom, or the very beginning, of my tongue, causing the ever-present lumps in my throat and the constant pressure in my chest. But I know better than to say these things. They are thoughts that are better left alone, for nights when I cannot sleep so I can turn them over in my mind, or return to them later to remind myself why I have nothing to complain about. These kind of thoughts should not be left uncovered, because, in a way, they are secrets. I think it is obvious that I think these things, but to say them would only make it that less real to me.