It's always these things from your past that make you feel the way you do and make you make the decisions you do in your present and then into your future. You say, I don't regret the past, but it's so difficult not to when your past is making you so regrettably shy or apathetic or whatever it is that bothers you about yourself. I know there are good things about the past. The past is my favorite medium. And that's why I have to let it go. Because remembering the past, holding onto it like I am so wont to do is just unhealthy. In response, I make plans. I come to realizations, and I accept the hard facts. I take these in stride, as if that will prepare me for them whenever it is I must face them. In this way, I have come to accept a small life. One that is so ornate and so very colorful, that it is beautiful. It is small but full. And that is what comforts me. Makes me able to accept the loss of friends, the loss of dreams, even the loss of myself, at times. I never had the fear that I couldn't find my way back to where I started from. Weaving as I will, in and out of the side streets, I've discovered something so strange and beautiful in the detour, in the journey. Perhaps I might feel slightly upset at my apparent disregard for the world. I have become nearly detached. It was not a natural state, nor was it necessarily an accepted one. But there's no going back now. In this way, the feeling of being able to survive so completely independent of others is empowering. It's empowering in the way that I know I will survive. I know that I'll be ok, I'll jump back, dust myself off, walk on. Each one of these assertions of independence is a stepping stone to my successful existence.
I want everyone I was so afraid of in high school, everyone who intimidated me to know that I'm not scared of them anymore. I'm living life successfully, so sadly, to show all the motherfuckers from high school that I can make it better and farther than they can. I can thrive under the pressure, and that's what counts. Does it matter where the pressure comes from? My past fears, my past needs for approval are what make me want to be better and better all the time.
The thing that's most important is that you're ok with you. You're ok with where things are at every point in life. So you know what? I'm still afraid of those people. I still want their approval. It's some stupid magic they hold over me. But I know that I'm going to be better than fine without it. Maybe they still get to me, but life is what life is. That's the only thing I've learned in the past few years. I'm ok with it. It doesn't matter. It doesn't make enough of a difference in the end. I'm vulnerable, and I'll always be vulnerable. Maybe I'm pathetic, but it doesn't get to me anymore.
So I'm scared of you. So what? You can't hurt me. I'll bounce right back, every time.
In the past, I've said I'm only caring because that's all I
can be. Should I quantify that?
I don't want to be alone. I'd rather put off the pains of existence for as long as possible. If I can just be around people, I can forget about these. It's an insatiable need for company. I don't know that I can explain the need completely. But it doesn't matter because that's not what this is about.
This is about being the only person I can be. And that's a caring person. It's the only thing that comes naturally to me. It does not mean that I am always able to empathize with you. But it means that I care about your well-being. So even if I think you're being an insufferable, angsty depressive with no
real problems in sight, I'll stick by you. You know, because I care or something. This sounds bitter and unkind. But, still I care. I cannot make myself stop. This is what will keep me from every horrible wrong I contemplate committing. The two would clash too violently.
So. I care. I invest everything I can into being there, if needed. I never want to look back knowing I could have done something, but didn’t do it.
This caring personality is something that everyone needs. They use it. They love it. They talk and they talk and they find themselves. And they feel dependent on you, like you’re a security blanket. And that’s my role. And for the company, I don’t mind being used. Because I use them back. I don’t think using is so bad. If it’s mutual.
That’s why I’m caring. That’s how I live. It’s convenient, if not all together satisfying.
Of course, it all hinges on my remaining sane. If I lose my mind, anything might happen. And probably the worst. If I ever wish to lose it, I know exactly how to do it. Don't we all? In our minds, we are
all villains. It's the difference between thinking and acting that allows us to continually accept ourselves as decent members of society.
Breaking that line is how we find ourselves an island, completely isolated. We can break ties with even the most persistent of people, if only we find the key. And the key is written in their every expression, their every word, their every good intention, and their every bit of trust and confiding in you. All that is left is to act. Because haven’t you already contemplated breaking them? Breaking away?
“It's like, have you ever stood with
someone at the edge of a cliff, or
the edge of a subway platform, and
you think, just for a split second,
‘What if I pushed him?’”Maybe it just makes you feel powerful, knowing you could break someone. You could really and truly break them. And that means you are important. You are influential. And so every second you see to their delicate balance, always keeping it gently in good sway, you feel the world in your hands.
But you are just as vulnerable. Like a domino effect, if someone pushes you too far, you will knock down everything in sight. You’ll think you’ve grown up, and you’ll want to throw off all the thin excuses you have had for happiness. You’ll really believe that the only friend you have is yourself, and it won’t matter whether or not it is true. Because it is fiducial to you.
Self-sabotage will become the only important thing to you. You’ll break down, and you’ll break everything with you. If you can just make everyone hate you, if you can just get past hating yourself, you’ll be forced into that defense mechanism. You’ll love yourself like no one else does. More than you ever loved yourself at any other time. And it will be easy because you’ll know that the world is cruel and petty and the thought of hitting bottom will comfort you. Such an ideal, bringing yourself down in order to bring yourself up. It’s the most humane way to go about things, really the most painless.
I guess the question beyond all of it is, at the point where you’ve learned to love yourself, will you realize that you’re lonely? And will you ever stop being alone after the damage you’ve done?
My Short Story
Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results makes you crazy.
Your first life was extremely devout. Every week masses, every night prayers to God, and respecting the sabbath. God made you, and God made all those faults, all the sins you would eventually commit.
With free will, how can anyone believe in fate? If we are not perfect, how can we be God's creation? Why would he make something so incomplete, so prone to wasting its potential? If God is perfect, why would he even bother with humanity? The whole planet, God, is only one human being who was inexplicably lonely and made for himself a world of company and a bunch of explaining away.
The truth is all in perception. The truth is, as long as you believe you serve a purpose in life, you will feel that you have none. You will let yourself be guided along a path that has no rhyme or reason, and you will hope blindly that you are pushed in the right directions. But if you shed this untruth, if you reject the ideal of purpose, you will suddenly gain it. You will not wait for reassurance in the grand design, you will serve yourself, and you will write a story more beautiful than this nonexistent fate ever could have.
Curse the conscience within. Curse the unending fountain of hope, the continuous stream of disappointments. If something strong and cruel passes along and causes an internal disturbance, maybe the fountain will run dry; all the God left inside of me will evaporate and finally I will be at peace. Realism is the ideal. You're never letdown, and when things pull through, you're even pleasantly surprised.
There's always this time in the night when it's far too late for logical thoughts. At this point, I become my most honest. If I am truly happy at this time, I will go to bed and sleep peacefully. If I'm unhappy, I will sit up listening to my mellow songs and pondering life for far too long.
I suppose I don't understand the value of knowledge sometimes. I don't understand what good it does to open the eyes of someone so deluded as to believe they are happy. If you can fool yourself into thinking you are happy, what is the worth of discovering a hard, cold truth? Just embrace it, joy in it; sooner or later, something will come along to bring you down.
I do believe there is such a possibility as to be too aware of one's self, of one's thoughts and feelings.
To always be looking into the past is to limit oneself to new experiences and possibly to new feelings. If you have never felt happiness, will you truly believe it is possible for you to feel it after a certain point? And if you are afraid you will be disappointed again, will you not destroy even the best of things that comes your way? You will not even be able to recognize a new emotion's existence.
Sometimes, even if you are fooling yourself, you have to forget your qualms and just resolve that you are exactly what/who/how you want to be.
We feel miserable, we feel emotional so that we might also feel compassion and understanding.
もし 私が 雨だつたなら
If I were the rain
それが永遠に交わる ことのない 空と大地を つなぎとめるように
that binds together the earth and the sky, who in all eternity will never mingle
誰かの心を つなぎ留めることが できただろうか
Would I be able to bind the hearts of people together?
The papers in the bathroom stalls talk about homesickness. Everyone misses home eventually: a place where they can feel completely comfortable. I thought, well, don't be homesick. After you leave, things change forever; when you go back everything is completely different. And that's just sad. Everything in your home town is filled with shadows of your many memories. Your home is filled with all kinds of strong feelings that will never find a way to leave. Maybe they will die when we move out. Before you come back home for the first time, all these memories still live inside you, strong and bounding. But change stomps them down. What if every day of life was like those few days that change everything? What if you weren't just wasting away, waiting for another day to come along where you're truly alive? These days keep you going, breathe life back into you. But there's a hole, and the life slowly seeps out. Maybe it's too much change, too much chaos for the human mind to handle.
I haven't played the piano in quite a while. I think I might start doing that again. It seems I don't have enough time to even write, let alone practice. But it's really just that the time is wasted sitting around. I don't understand it. Why can't I just get out of this 3-year slump? It's like...it's like I know exactly how I want to be. I know exactly what it is I have to do. I know everything, but some invisible force is holding me back. Play the piano on a regular basis. Do your homework before the night before. Read more books. Start knitting again. Exercise. Eat better. Watch less TV. Start writing on a regular basis again. Interact with more people. Do things that make you a little bit uncomfortable. Stick up for yourself.
I'm feeling...what was it you said?? "Poetic" right now. Something about "poetic" something or other. A fancy name for a rather common meaning. I'd just...like to understand. All I can do is compare myself to other people and I never measure up. Even when I think I'm the better person, I end up with less. Stop stop stop. That's obvious.
The brighter the light, the darker the shadow
Maybe if I just keep talking and talking I'll eventually get to something that is significant. Has a point. All that jazz.
After making a phone post to my livejournal, which I will never publicly post (mainly because no one in their right mind would listen to it), I've come upon two things that might possibly be worth mentioning.
"I say that life would be so much easier if I just didn't need someone else so much, all of the time. But the truth is I really don't know. The truth is, I think I'm just running from that; that's my reason for being miserable right now. That's just the one concrete thing that I throw everything on because I don't want to think about the fact that I'm not satisfied with myself."
Problems are just so much easier when you can blame them all on something you don't understand. Because when you're not ready to change, to fix those things, you just want to pass it off as crazy. But it's not crazy. And if you were honest with yourself, you could understand it so easily. Actually. I think you already do.
"The problem with learning from the mistakes of others is you're so cautious that you don't get to make some of your own. You don't get to appreciate what you got, what you learned, what you truly experienced; that tacit knowledge of what it means to make a huge mistake. You don't get to live because you're so busy preventing all those mistakes; the funny thing is you know that no matter how many mistakes you avoid, there's just a whole mountain more of mistakes that you can't avoid. That's what learning is, right? At least, that's the learning that sticks with you."
It's pointless to be so cautious, isn't it? It's just silly. There's nothing exciting in life if there's no conflict. There's no great work of art. And if there's one thing I'd like to do with my life, I'd like to make it a work of art. Something I can approve of for once; with all its little quirks, something to be at peace with.
