In John Crowley's excellent (and, in my case, life-changing) book, Aegypt, the word "hiraeth" is defined thusly:
"...he knew well that burden of feeling the Welsh call hiraeth, something neither hope nor regret, neither revelation nor memory, but a compund of all of these, a yearining that could fill the heart as with warm rain."
I have suffered under the weight of this feeling, this hiraeth, for what feels like most of my life. Most of the major decisions of my life have come at it's urging, most of my mistakes and almost every one of my triumphs through it's counsel.
This excuses nothing. I am responsible, to paraphrase the Gourds song, for the stupid things I do. There is no way to avoid it, though - I am, at heart, not a rational person, moving through life making decisions the way that most people seem to do, thinking things through. I long for something, and I keep longing, casting about as best I can to try to find it, without even truly knowing what it is.
I hope that the people who love me understand. I do many things that seem willful, or destructive, or completely unintelligble.
I'm trying. As are we all. I hope we shall arrive soon.