REFLECTION FROM DECEMBER 10TH, 2007**
WRITTEN – 12/10/2007 @ AGE 26
I find lately that I’ve been terribly resentful of those circumstances into which I was born that have arrested my possible intellectual and emotional growth and development. But what can I do? That is a fact of life; we are all arrested from developing fully and in a healthy way by the world and the circumstances into which we were born. This is a fact of life; I can accept it. I cannot yet accept however, the overall fairness of this inequality.
The inequality comes in many forms, most of which I am sure I cannot recognize. I am limited by my inexperience and consequentially suffer from my ignorance. But what really gets to me, I find, is that even though I cannot see it, I can conceptualize that all human beings struggle and suffer. It’s just that the struggle and suffering occurs in an array of different ways, most of which I cannot yet concretely conceptualize.
It’s 1:50am and I’m having trouble falling asleep. I think at 9 or 10pm I received a second wind and here I am four hours later and I’m still high; high on thought I suppose – high on ideals which make life worth living.
I think so much. My mother told me the other day that my problem is that I think too much. I couldn’t agree less. I don’t think honest and true answers in life are found in being stupid or voluntarily ignorant. I think seeking truth in life is one of the most difficult and pain-staking tasks a human being can pursue. I feel the search for truth in my life has made it more worthwhile than any other pursuit.
I walk around terrified that something I will say will offend someone; the cruelest part being I am walking around with the intent to be kind and open-minded toward every person that I meet.
I wonder whether what I write is interesting and in any way pertinent to other human beings. I wonder whether other human beings would be interested in reading what I write, and I wonder if in wondering so, whether I am being selfish.
I want more than anything to be a good human being in this world, but even in doing so I feel I am self-destructive.
I feel. I feel like you could not believe. My bipolar medication has not been working for the past month and I’ve felt that, but I’m finally up to the full dosage as of the end of last week, and hence readily await relief and pray it’s just around the corner. I’m prepared to go back on anti-depressant medication if relief does not materialize, but I loath to lull into a dreamy state of consciousness as a result.
I think often about having children, weighing the pros and cons, explicating my fears relating thereto. I find it hard to believe anyone would even think about bringing a child into this world, and I wonder how their experiences differ from mine such that they would do so.
I wonder if I will ever be satisfied, or at least more satisfied than not. I wonder what I am not seeing yet in this world, and how much, upon my death, will remain unseen.
I marvel at the complexity and specialization this world has come to, and I wonder whether it will ever seem more simple than complex again.
I wonder if I’ll fall in love for a lifetime. I wonder if David was it, or if I have not any idea of what’s in store. I find myself hoping for the latter and at the very same time, denouncing myself for hoping at all. I want to be angry with life, but even more so, find myself aching to believe once again.
I struggle in my pursuit of faith, and although I do not propose to think I know either way, I find myself hoping for a god and for intrinsic meaning to life. I hate that I want so much to believe in nothing, and yet a part of me will absolutely refuse the notion. I feel my hope like a balloon under water – although suppressed by circumstance, always struggling to rise above.
I feel so much, and I suffer as a result. I feel that beauty, in its purest and most true form, results from struggling and suffering and persevering and overcoming. I feel that I am one of the most beautiful living beings I’ve ever known, without a doubt. But I want to doubt, because my own instinct has failed me so often in the past. I feel selfish and self-centered in thinking that I’m beautiful. And yet I suffer and I struggle and in glimpses of hope of a brighter future, I find beauty as I’ve never yet seen it before.
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