Such malleability, such inconsistency lies in human perception. You may see that Roger is weak for backing away from a fight, or devilish for not believing in God. But what I see is something entirely different. I think Roger’s withdrawal from violence is a product of perspicacity, of compassion, while you believe it is an extension of cowardice. I think Roger’s agnosticism reflects a passionate and fearless curiosity about the world, while you regard him as satanic, cynical and loveless. Your experiences only allow you to see so much, and so do mine.
Me and you– we’re so different. And we’re capable of personalizing Roger two completely different ways. But what if Roger has never met me? What if he has only met you? How do you think he sees himself, his worth? Do you think he despises himself, hates the way he is? Hates the things he can’t change about himself? Why should self-love depend on such a small sample size of judges? I need only to look at physics, look at the universe to see that I am mathematically indifferent to external judgment
Over a year unchained by depression. I never thought I would utter those words. Sometimes it feels silly, a little stupid and pathetic to write, to talk to myself. Like I need this therapy that most people don’t. I feel ridiculous mumbling to myself of the shit that happens to me. I feel pathetic for being weak. I just feel like a weak person in general, in every sense of the word. I’m so sick of having wavering confidence, of loving myself some days and hating myself others. I envy those who are able to sustain the discipline needed for optimism. I mean sometimes I do have that. But it’s so fleeting. One day I’ll be strong enough to tell the jerk that treated me badly that I don’t want to talk to him anymore, and in my heart I’ll believe I deserve better. But the next day comes around and it’s like a new person has taken over my mindset. I become needy and self-loathing and desperate. I worry that I’ll never find someone else who will give me the same amount of affection, who will make me laugh in the same way, or hold me the same way, or express themselves so candidly. And that fear never subsides. The animal in me fears losing something that will make me happy and make my children happy. I do not know how to discipline my emotions.
I like to suffer. And I seek out adversity just to feel something. I don’t succeed because I don’t want to. I’d rather embrace the sensation of failure than reach a summit of success only to look below and realize the “summit” does not elevate over the tragedy that is our fate. There is no point in accomplishing something if it ultimately carries no significance.
Nothing matters. This truth paralyzes me. It strips me of passion needed to complete even simple tasks. What do I hope to get out of my life that triumphs over others by having this perspective? If nothing matters, then why does it matter if I continue to look at life as meaningless? Why is it so important to me that I see things the way they are? Am I even seeing things the way they are?
This may as well be another illusion. A part of me likes to suffer. It is easier to suffer. To let the world bully me and to deem myself helpless. Because I am. And I’m fucking bitter about it. I resent my own life.
The thing is, is that I can’t get revenge on anyone or anything. I can’t scream at the culprit, at the person responsible for putting me through this hell. And I’m pissed. Looking for answers where there are none. Looking for someone to tell me the right way to live my life but there is no one with that credibility. No one right way to live. And what is “right” for that matter? I look for the right interpretation of “right” and how do I know my interpretation of “right” is right? This is so stupid. There are no answers.
I don’t even know what I’m doing here. And everyone around me seems so sure, so unequivocally certain that what they’re doing is important. I can never feel like that again. I miss that feeling.