ON THE NATURE OF BEAUTY – Bourne from the Pain of Struggling to Overcome

REFLECTION FROM DECEMBER 10th, 2007 

RE:  GIVING UP HOPE, AND WHAT KEEPS ME ON HOPING ANYWAYS

WRITTEN 12/10/2007 @ AGE 26

As of right now, I cannot ever see myself meeting a man I would even want to marry, I cannot see myself having children, I cannot even see myself in three years’ time when my car lease is up – and the suspense is horrifying.  Perhaps that’s because all I’ve had in my life up until now is disappointment – hard work leading to disappointing circumstance.

I have much on my mind, but little time to express myself.  I think deep thoughts and am often struck by the cruel ironies of life.  I’m growing used to once more cohabitating with my parents, although I remain supremely disappointed that I am not able still to facilitate individually.  I remain interested in finishing the typing of my stories, but am frightened in doing so, because I’m not sure I will survive the revival of my pain and suffering, albeit temporary.  I’m not sure, in fact, whether I will ever escape constant pain and suffering.

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 a book that I have published, based solely upon these writings and my limited life experience.  And I wonder if, in wondering so, I am being selfish.  I wonder to a fault – I find in wondering, I am searching for truth, and it makes me feel at fault and ill at ease with this world.

I feel the cruel ironies of life and I suffer because of them.  I want more than anything to be a good human being in this world – but in doing so, I feel I am constantly destroying myself.

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 and hence readily awaiting relief.  I pray it’s just around the corner.  I’m prepared to go back on anti-depressant medication if relief does not materialize – but I loathe to lull into a dreamy state of consciousness as a result.

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 feel like I write poetically, but wonder how off-base that presumption might be.

I resent, to one degree or another, my peers whose lives have now stabilized, notably in light of my continually frustrating circumstance.  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 for me.  I find myself hoping for the latter and at the very same time, denouncing myself for hoping at all.  I want to be angry at life – but even more so, I find myself aching to believe once more.

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, as opposed to my ulterior desire to respite all faith once and for all.  I hate that I want so much to believe in nothing – and yet that a part of me, will absolutely refuse the notion.  I feel my hope like a balloon under water – although suppressed by any number of circumstance, struggling always 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 fighting to find some way to overcome.  I feel that I am one of the most beautiful living beings I’ve ever known without a doubt.  I want to doubt my instinct because, despite the generally accepted notion, my own intuition has failed me on more occasions than not.  I feel selfish and self-centered in thinking that I’m beautiful – and yet as I suffer and struggle, in glimpses of hope for a brighter future – I find beauty as I’ve never before seen it yet.

Thoughts?

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