I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this place inside myself. You — you are someone, some essence of me that I can depend on and take refuge within. I’ve worked so hard to find you, my soul, my peace. I’ve worked so hard to fully realize your capabilities. You have the ability to comfort, to qualm, to be a friend.
I’ve let indecisiveness bully me for too long. I’ve let fantasies allude me. I’ve let ghosts talk to me. I’ve hugged an invisible person. I’ve looked everywhere outside of myself for scraps of fulfillment. I’ve spent too many hours crying over the loss of an elusive being, of intangible promises, of unfounded guidelines. I’ve worked so hard for the happiness I have now. I’ve earned every bit of it.
I survived carelessness. I was able to endure existence with no reason for living — for three years I endured this hell I never knew awaited me. And I came out of it with a new way to find meaning. Now, each day is meaningful to me without needing anything external to make it meaningful.
I accepted the facts, I embraced truth. And as horrifying as it was at first, the truth is now the most comforting, most visible, most tangible, most substantial thing I have.
At least I know the truth is dependable. I face death no longer with fear or apathy. I face death willingly. I am a part of nature, part of science, part of physics and math — and these things are most beautiful, more comforting, and more uplifting than any illusion, deception, or hallucination.
If you will but forget all else and pay sole regard to the helmsman of your soul and the divine spark within you — if you will but exchange your fear of having to end your life some day for a fear of failing even to begin it on nature’s true principles — you can yet become a man, worthy of the universe that gave you birth, instead of a stranger in your own homeland, bewildered by each day’s happenings as though by wonders unlooked for, and ever hanging upon this one or the next.
If there are any vestiges of optimism buried within me right now, I need to scavenge for them and bring them to the surface. They have sunk into extinction, without me even acknowledging their role until completely covered and out of sight. There is a part of me I need to revive–the part of me that is passionate and motivated. Most importantly, I need to rediscover what it is I am passionate about, so that I may be able to produce motivation.
Outside things can touch the soul not a whit. They know no way into it. They have no power to sway or move it. By itself it sways and moves itself. It has it’s own self-approved standards of judgement, and to them it refers every experience.
If there is one thing I know for certain, it’s that I don’t know anything for certain.
If there is a more loving way to treat another person, or a more loving way to treat myself, I want to know this way. I not only want to know it, I want to practice it. The former is easy, but the latter is such a struggle. Often there are issues residing within my own self which hinder me from putting my full attention into loving others the best way I can. Often I berate my decisions, my appearance, my inadequacies so intensively that once someone says anything remotely offensive, I crumble from even a delicate touch of an insult.
Today, what I can do, what I can control, are the inaccurate insults I fling towards myself. For now, never mind about how I treat other people–if I am loving myself, I am able to love others.
The fortuities of life, birthed by nature, can highlight the accidents of utter chaos but can also illustrate the beauty of causation. I go outside and he just ‘happens’ to be there. I can choose to see this as a product of chaos or as beautiful fortuity changing my life’s course. Both of these are true. But I can choose to look at as the latter, relishing in chaos’ awesome ability to appear orderly and lead to fortunate coincidences.
Anger, fear, jealousy–these feelings cripple me. Like clamps that tighten on my stomach, they are so powerful, capable of poisoning my purest mindset, prone to inundate and devour the innocence that is my precocious optimism. Fear can bring any man to his knees, and in the next moment can conversely taunt him with its absence.
Out of confusion and loneliness, out of the vestiges of a crumbled spirit, blossomed a new, beautiful, edited evaluation of reality. Almost as if I had been without contacts. And failed to realize my vision was impaired. What I saw, what I believed, what I clung to, did not seem blurry until I put new lenses in. How does one know his vision is impaired unless he has something to compare it to?
There will always be people who see value in reaching out to help me. I will always make friends who want me to be safe, have food, and be happy. I’ll always meet strangers who light up my heart and do nice things for me–and I have to stop punishing myself and start believing I deserve these things.
Even if I don’t treat people perfectly, don’t I deserve good feeling? Don’t I deserve second chances, kind words, and hand outs? Do I? Do I think other people deserve this? yes. But when it comes to accepting kindness, absorbing compliments, and embracing hopefulness, I fall short. I lean over a cliff of denial, of withholding happiness from my own self. And I alone push myself off this cliff–no one else does.
Discipline is ever-present, and I am ever-capable of grabbing a hold of a rational assessment of things.
Thinking is learning all over again to see, to be attentive, to focus consciousness; it is turning every idea and every image. . . into a privileged moment.
” I want everything to be explained to me or nothing.” The mind aroused by this insistence seeks and finds nothing but contradictions and nonsense.