Sometimes your smile is enough
But I can’t keep feeling this way
You fling hurtful words, you yell, you’re too rough
I know inside you feel misunderstood
My heart tries to see you
What I see isn’t always good
Time passes and I inspect your soul
I know where I went wrong
But it’s too late… you’ve lost control
April 19, 2013
Last night I had a complete collapse of any vestiges of sanity previously remaining. I left the apartment and saw a movie by myself… because then no one would be there to disappoint me. I could just enjoy the presence of nothingness- the lack of presence at all. I could depend on the movie. And it is the only thing that is dependable. That is so saddening. But that is my life.
Where else do I find relief…? When I’m suffering from precisely the malignancy of desire? I came home late after worrying everyone. Cried in the parking-lot for quite a while, stared vacuously out into the emptiness of the night. I cried, knowing that I would walk upstairs only to re-enter the cycle that inevitable ends in pain. And in this moment I am infuriated just as much as I am hopeless. I know that I will return to the world again, I feel forced to do so.
There is a force that unabatingly propels me towards engaging back into life- into caring about worldly fulfillment- into doing my homework and laughing at something funny. And yet I am infuriated that this engagement is fleeting- that my participation, my role…its intensity is like a light emanating from an oscillating beacon.
Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.
At times I forget that I possess these weapons- these skills that provide me with the means to deal with any misfortune, or fortune, that comes my way. Even if I do not approach the situation perfectly, or even if my best effort is not enough- that effort is all that I have. All I have is who I am. To worry about a future event is to seemingly worry that who I am will not show up at that event: this is a contradiction in itself. As long as I am showing up, I am armed with everything that I need; I have nothing to worry about.
I wonder if everyone has felt as useless as I feel right now. I truly long to know if one sets personal goals for himself and fails as many times as I have. Or how many times one fails not because he doesn’t try hard enough but because he stops trying half-way through the journey. I fall short of what I can become, again I do this. Again I lose my footing and stumble into a crevasse of perpetuating apathy that, from which, even if I escape, time mocks me. Time tells me it’s too late and I must start over.
I’m so sick of starting over. I look behind me, and can I really characterize my past as “progress”? I look ahead of me, and I feel chained down by my self-destructive behaviors. I feel helpless.
But I’m not helpless. I know I can help myself. Maybe, in this moment, I still don’t know how to change habits and alter them permanently. But that doesn’t mean I won’t ever figure out a technique… doesn’t mean I’ll feel helpless forever. I refuse to feel like this forever.
The railways parting downtown Chicago. My gaze extends past buildings, past the sky, and into the depths of the universe. Within this cosmic arena, on this tiny Earth, there is a collection of atoms organized in a certain way that allows a body to form and grow– to think for itself and think about itself. To contemplate its own existence. And to appreciate its own existence.
A part of me I admire is gone. I suppose it’s no longer a part of me, then. The things I care about do not run deep; they are shallow. What happens when one puts out a fire that fuels an appreciation for life? And how does one ignite a spark all over again? I am longing for things that bring me no lasting fulfillment; I am allured by pleasures that satisfy me only fleetingly. Curiosity, passion, self-awareness, morality, empathy, inquisitiveness– what are these to me? Foreign qualities, none of which I posses anymore.
A part of me I respect is gone. I suppose it’s no longer a part of me, then. If I were anyone else, I wouldn’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust my word, my instincts, even my actions. The right word is obfuscated now. The genuine instinct is inundated by impulse. The just act is poisoned by lethargy. If I were anyone else, I wouldn’t trust me.
A part of me that once shined is now dark. I suppose it’s no longer a part of me, then. Wrong. I am wrong. There is only darkness when I refuse to produce light, when I refuse to produce an honest effort. I should not entertain the thought that suggests my qualities are stagnant, the thought that suggests my character has a definite, concrete shape. I am who I choose to be in this moment. I am not my past, nor am I my future.
Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one.
The human race will die off. Therefore my efforts to remain immortal on paper are even wasted. But I’m starting to realize that maybe salvaging immortality isn’t the point…of life, I mean. That is, to the best of my knowledge, impossible. Why should such an impossibility dictate my life? It becomes irrelevant. The clouds will also never rain skittles. Does that mean I should go ahead and kill myself now? And dwell on an outcome I cannot control? This is illogical.
I am an animal. And even though I’ve advanced in intelligence enough to anticipate my death, I am still an animal with a role in nature. To this world I belong. I am not a “tumor” in the universe. And you are not a tumor either. Because whatever I’m feeling, whatever you’re feeling, is natural.
One day, soon, these words will be all that allows my thoughts to live on. I know the thoughts of others, who are now passed, have touched me in an invaluable way. Marcus Aurelius, a man who lived 1800 years ago, managed to reach me with a modern-day relatability. No technology, less materialism– and yet there still existed distractions, longings, impulses, jealousy, pursuits, avoidances,
It is humbling. And remarkable. That everything he has felt– I feel this now. So much has changed externally, while internally, humans experience the same emotions no matter when they’re born. He has comforted me. He has made me feel less alone in my understandings and misunderstandings.