Unsettled, Unresolved

I have a penchant for correspondence.
A few days ago I started to write a letter to myself, and all my thoughts began to pull together. The feeble little threads of thought wound into a thick and satisfying cord. It became a lasso. I used it to snag as many insights as I could, relishing each and every single catch. It was great.

A snippet from what I wrote to myself: "If you don't want to be fucked-up, you're going to have to ignore your fucked-up feelings."

I've felt unsettled lately. Unsettled, ignored, and unresolved feelings lead to discontent, dizziness, and depression (collectively). Yet I've had to abandon resolution, because I realize that they're fucked up, and I don't want to feel them at all. I don't want to think about them. I don't want to remember them.
Who'd want to remember the terrible urge to be violent? Who, other than maniacal psychopaths, would so want to slice open a child's head and have its insides burst out theatrically, and splatter the entirety of the white pediatric waiting room? Who'd want to remember the absence of dread, the absence of remorse, the absence of fear and any mitigating feelings of empathy? Who'd want to remember a second being snaking away from her real self, strangling, ripping, grinning in some imaginary world above (below) her own. A second being, lacerating, grating, scraping--

Exactly. You see what I've done? I've tried to delve back into these feelings. I want to remember their intensity. I want to remember their overwhelming, terrifying, empowering ways--but it's so wrong, it's so fucked-up, it's part of a self that I don't want to be.
So denying it is my only choice.

Part of the reason I wrote to my self was to persuade her to accept this decision, and to resolve her unresolved feelings about unresolved feelings. She is unhappy if they sit unreconciled. But I've come to realize that part of maturation is letting these emotions dissipate. Shutting them in a room to crumple and dry and disintegrate into wisps of mahoganic dust, for other emotions to whirl in and take their place.
She won't be happy with her irreconciliable emotions. But she will forget them.

"I'm sorry, desperate inner child yearning for showers of affection, but you're going to grow up and be happy whether the fuck you like it or not. Okay? Okay."
---------------------------------------------------------
On another note, I am in love.