Motivation

It never fails to interest me just how motivation and/or inspiration strikes. It seems to often come at the least expected times, in the least expected ways, oftentimes even to the least expected people. But this is what results. Days like today, days when I am too excited, have too many thoughts in my mind to the point of not being able to sleep, all because of inspiration.

I don't know what sparked this, I don't know how the conversation even went the way it did. But here I am, a good four hours after it started, my mind absolutely racing with ideas. I'm altogether too afraid that this is going to be just another one of those temporary periods that strikes when everything is new and exciting but then dies down.

But I'm not willing to let it take that turn. Because here, I'm doing something, I'm making a difference not just in the present, but also in the future. Even as I am furiously typing this, the ideas are overflowing my brain, and I know that I will not be able to fall asleep. I'm excited for something. This is good. This is exactly what I needed at a time like right now.

Circles

I don't know what to say, and I'm not sure what to feel. I feel almost as though I am caught in infinite swirling circles of misunderstanding and confusion. Maybe I don't misunderstand, maybe I'm not confused. Or maybe I'm just imagining everything that seems to be happening around me. I'm not sure of much of anything anymore.

Today has just generally been a rather strange day. I'm not sure if it's been good or bad or average or anything else, for that matter. I just know that pieces of it have been very much confusing, and I'm still not entirely certain what to make of most of it. So here I sit, trying to work out all of the pent-up anxiety, trying to figure out just why my leg is twitching right now as much as it is.

Maybe I'm being foolish. Or maybe I just need to calm down and get a grip...actually, that's probably it. But at the same time, I don't know what to think. Maybe it's like gripping at sand--the harder you grip, the faster it slips away. Which means that I really do just need to calm down, chill out, and figure things out. I think I'm going to go try and do that right now, then see how I feel in a couple of hours. Because as it stands, I can't get anything done. At all.

Music

Music is like water. It caresses the soul. It has the power to soften pains and soothe wounds. It can support a person, carry the burden of a life. It allows us to forget what happens around us. It flows on and on, the steady rhythm, the pleasant tone, the sheer power behind a well-crafted song is enough to change everything.

So here I sit, awash in melody. Nothing else matters. The music cocoons me unlike anything else. I am sheltered from the rest of the world, unconcerned with what trivial nonsense is taking place all around me. I don't need anything. I'm perfectly content to merely sit here and let the sound flow over me.

Music doesn't numb me; in a way, it actually makes me feel more. But the pain is dulled and the emotions enhanced, as oxymoronic as that may be. It doesn't take me away from the world, nor does it make anything disappear or appear as it is not. In a way, it just allows me to perceive reality in a softer light--everything that was there before is still there, but it doesn't have the same power to hurt me anymore.

These past few months, I've been listening to music pretty much whenever the opportunity has been presented to me. In a way, it has made me almost dependent on the soothing flow of sound around me on a regular basis. But on the other hand, it has made me so much less pained, it has allowed me to hide behind a computer screen and block the world out with headphones when I just need to think by myself...rather like right now.

Staring Away

Here I sit, neither sad nor happy, neither cold nor warm. I just am. I simply exist. Nothing stirs within me save the tea going down my throat at regular intervals. All is silent. And finally, I don't really have to think. For once, I can just feel. Everything has ceased to matter and I sit here, I just sit here...I don't need to fill the time or the silence or the emptiness.

I like it just the way it is. Which is precisely what makes it so much more beautiful. Even as I type, I am staring away...out the window, toward the door, above the screen, anywhere but where the words formed by my fingers appear. The tapping of my fingers has picked up a distinctive, quiet rhythm unlike any song or beat.

The tapping blends with the hum of the fridge and the gentle whispering of a heater blowing air in the background. In reality, it is not all that silent. In reality, there are definite sensations that fill the room. But in my actuality, everything flows smoothly on--the river of time does not pause for any man, the grains of sand are not suspended in any hourglass as a favor.

Everything is slowly moving forward, and even sitting here, doing nothing, I feel as though I am going with it all. I do not feel held back by my inaction, nor decapitated by my fatigue. I feel almost at piece. It will all end soon, as soon as I finish typing, as soon as I allow the hectic nature of life to carry me forward again...but for now, for these few minutes I spent floating in nothingness, I was content.

Sick

I'm sick. I mean sick with a cold, or something of similar proportions. I don't think this is bad enough to be the flu. Regardless, it doesn't really matter. The point is that right now, I'm sitting here, sniffling, about to sneeze, and reaching over for the roll of toilet paper on the heater (because yes, I really am too lazy to invest in some tissues). That was probably more information than anybody cares to know.

Whatever. I don't have much to say, and my head is a bit stuffy. So I guess that in reality, I'm just filling space right now. Which partially makes me wonder why I still bother writing here every day, especially on days when I really have nothing worthwhile to write. But I guess it at least makes me sit down and think for a couple of minutes, if nothing more.

And then again, out of the over one hundred posts that I have written, I can honestly say that there are at least five that I am proud of. If I hadn't made myself write every single day, maybe there wouldn't be that many. Alright...so that's probably not true. It's just a matter of the fact being that if I didn't write every single day, I would probably never get around to writing here at all, and this would fail as miserably as have most of my attempts at writing. So at least for now, I'll keep doing this, at least until I figure out a better system, bear with me please.

Misery

These past two days...they have been hell. I have been stomped on, trampled, shattered, broken, destroyed. But somehow I'm still here. Something is keeping me going. And I don't know what it is. I'm getting sick, I'm getting almost no sleep. The world is inadvertently (or perhaps with every malicious intent) throwing every burden upon my shoulders. I'm still carrying on, keeping my head up just enough to not collapse from the pain.

It's one of those things where once it starts going downhill, it just keeps falling and falling and falling. And I'm desperately hoping that this afternoon will bring some relief for it, some brief form of respite from the hell. Because I don't know how much longer I can keep taking what has been thrown at me. I don't know how I'm still able to move forward with my life. But I'm somehow doing it.

Something has made me want to get through this, to pull myself out of this canyon that life threw immediately underneath my feet. I want to get out of this, I want to make it through. And everything in the world seems to be completely against me, it seems to want to do everything it can to leave me hurt, upset, and incapable of continuing on. Normally, I would just continue lying in the ditch, moving along as I was able, only to see what happened next.

But right now, something is different. Right now, despite the pieces I'm in, I'm getting up, I'm moving forward. I'm doing something with myself. And it hurts like hell. This is tearing me to bits. I don't know if I can keep doing this, and maybe I cannot. But I'm not going to let this stop me. My life has hit the point where I'm in too much pain to care. It's hit the point where I have almost nothing left to lose. I'm going to cling like hell to the things I still have left, but everything else is out the window. I'm trying to make what I can of this mess, and I'll be damned if I let some poor bastard who doesn't even know me stop my life.

Disappointment

In our lives, we inevitably face disappointment. Not only the disappointment in things not working out the way we wanted them to, but also the disappointment of others in us. Those times when we try our hardest but still fall short, that's when it really hurts to look someone in the eyes who expected better from us.

What's harder yet, perhaps, is how we face that disappointment, what we do when confronted with it, what happens when it is put down before us and we are asked to explain. Then we have no choice, there is no avoiding it at that point. My problem there is that I know many ways of approaching the situation, but can only handle it in two. I can face it with silence, or I can face it with anger.

So that's what I had to do today. I had to come forward and pay up for the disappointment of others in me. It's worse having to face disappointment than anger or repulsion. Anger or repulsion give us an excuse to be angry back, or to at least be miserable and lash out. Disappointment comes with no such consolation; it offers no such excuse. With disappointment, we have to take it as it comes and try to respond appropriately.

I tried it with silence, I tried to shy away, to cast the downward glances that commonly imply shame, but it didn't work. I was cornered, with the disappointment glaring before me, the blood rushing up to my cheeks. So I did the one thing I knew to do in that situation--I lashed out in anger. I know that wasn't the best reaction, nor the only possible one, but it was the only one I was comfortable with, which means I went with it.

And tomorrow, I get to pay for having lashed out with more shame and guilt. But this I'm used to by now. This is one of those situations that will eventually even out and slide away without significant damage done. I don't try to be the best person anymore, I just try to hurt people as little as possible without destroying myself. And that is precisely what I have just done. Yes, I do feel bad about it to some extent, but not bad enough to want to change any of it.

All Wrong

Is it wrong that I just walked back through the snow, shaking not from the cold but from sobs? Is it wrong that I've spent the last hour crying my eyes out? Is it wrong that I've done nothing all day short of drying tears so that the world forgets about me? Is it wrong that all I want is for something to make sense?

Because apparently, this is just the way it is. Apparently, the world has a wonderful habit of dumping hell into my life and leaving me to bruise my knuckles hitting walls again and again. Right or wrong, here I am, my eyes approaching the steel-grey tint of my depression. Maybe the worst part of it all, the very worst part, is that no matter how many times I punch the wall, no matter how many tears run down my face, nothing is going to change.

I'm not just depressed, I'm angry. I'm angry because I'm there for people when they need me, because I put aside all of the pain I feel, and I try to take care of theirs. Every single time, even today, I push back all of the tears, I make myself forget, and I help them. So why is it that now, when I need somebody to be there for me, nobody is? Why is it that now, I'm stuck sitting here, crying my eyes out in front of my computer, wondering why I can't talk to anybody, why I just get to suck it all up and wipe the tears away again as soon as somebody knocks on my door.

So why? Just why? Why am I still here, with a shattered soul and broken dreams? And I know that no matter what I do now, no matter how much I cry or cringe or despair, nothing is going to change. Nobody is going to show up at my window because they care. So here I sit, watching the snow fall down outside, feeling the tears run down my cheeks, and knowing that ever so slowly, my life is ending...and I think I'm more grateful for that fact than I should be.

It's wrong. It's all wrong. And nothing works anymore. The only reason I don't give up is because I don't have the guts to. And that doesn't make me feel any better about any of it, either. I'm alone right now, completely alone. Maybe it's better that way, maybe it's better that I don't spoil the lives of everyone around me with my problems. And I just might be depressed enough right now to believe that.

Scary Thoughts

Yesterday, I was prepared to go to sleep at 8 pm, largely due to the fact that I had to get up at 5 today. Then, right around 9 o'clock, someone comes into my room to get something. One thing leads to another and we end up having a rather nice heart-to-heart. The only problem with that whole scenario is that I didn't get to bed until 11. But that's okay, I think it was worth it.

And then at some point during this wonderfully exhausted, drained conversation, I managed to figure out that if three people sat down and had a conversation about me, they would all come out with far more information about me than I am comfortable with anybody knowing. Now, the good thing is that this isn't likely to happen at all...the thought is not exactly comforting to me.

So why do I trust people with so much then? Me, with all of my trust issues and lack of desire to have people prying into my business...and yet for some odd reason, I actually trust people. I have no idea just how that works. And I think I'm a good bit too exhausted right now to actually figure it out (partially because I spent a dazed 6 minutes this morning trying to find my alarm clock even though it was in the exact same place as usual). Yeah....I think I'm going to go get a bit of rest right about now...

Limits

Limits--in real life and in mathematics, the definitions of the word are so different. In our everyday lives, we refer to limits as lines--they are regions that we don't dare step over, like the edge of a cliff. In mathematics on the other hand, it is where something would be if it followed a given pattern, the function, as it is.

So why do we use these two definitions so differently? If, for example, we applied the mathematical definition to a real-life situation. So when the question of "where does the limit lie?" becomes one of what follows the pattern, not where the pattern ends. Then there is no cliff....even in functions that go infinitely far or approach a limit, the function is most often continuous, it smoothly approaches that limit.

There is no jump, there is just a point it doesn't hit. If you try to follow the function beyond that point, it simply doesn't work, you can't get past it, the function doesn't exist. So why do we constantly talk in life about transcending limits? Why do we talk about stepping over the line? I've had countless conversations that run like this:

"How far would you go?"
"I want to know, I want to find that limit, but I'm not willing to transcend that line."

Is it a question of desire to cross the line (which may or may not actually exist), or is it rather one of a region we cannot reach, one that we prevent ourselves, mentally, physically, or emotionally, from reaching? I guess my whole question is one of whether it is even possible to reach our "limits," whatever those may be. And I don't have an answer. I don't even have a theory. Hopefully I'll actually remember at one point to come back to this and think about it again, but for now, I'm left wondering.

Angst

So today, someone was talking about my blog being "angsty." And I'm not really sure what to make of that. Certainly, this isn't exactly the happiest collection of thoughts ever, but it also isn't completely chock-full of so-called angst. Or at least, I don't consider it to be. Then again, that's very much subjective because I am the one writing all of it. Regardless, I found that slightly amusing, make of it what you will.

Hm...in other developments, I don't really have a concrete topic I want to be writing about, so I'm just spewing the contents of my mind onto the screen right now, wherever that may lead. I'm in a relatively good mood, although I guess there are undercurrents of hell knows what under all of that. Oh well, it happens. And I'm enjoying this while I can. Because me being me, it's not going to last very long.

Today is winding down, I'm tired, and I just stretched. So I guess this is going to be nearing the end of this rather low-quality, mildly annoying post. Ironic, isn't it, how the post I title "Angst" is probably one of the happiest ones I've written in a while? Well, life is interesting like that at times, so I'm just going to take it and go with it. On the (other) bright side, I get to sleep in 40 minutes tomorrow, which is always nice. So I think I'll be getting to sleep before this mood wears off, and to make the most of my extended sleeping opportunity. Good night.

Make Me Smile

A conversation that I just had:

"In that strange, bitter, masochistic way, it makes me smile."

"Is it bad that I know what you mean?"

"Yes, I think it very well might be."

Today has indeed been a rather interesting day...I think I'll leave it at that.

Change of Pace

Today has been odd. It started with the usual fatigue of an early morning, transitioned to utter giddy spontaneity, turned to concerned frustration, and finished (well, thus far at least) with an interesting conversation with someone I haven't often had the opportunity of talking to. That makes for quite an interesting combination of events.

I don't even know how to establish a general theme or mood for today. I mean, most days recently I've been able to determine to be either hopelessly miserable or fairly entertaining or at least a mix of the two. Today has just been...weird. Not even a mix. It's been solid ups and downs all the way through, and I have a feeling it isn't really over yet. Which complicates everything.

And the question of why keeps coming up. Why? Why not? I never have an answer to that. I don't think I ever will. Or if I do, I doubt that I will ever fully understand it. I think I may have hit a point where it doesn't matter anymore to understand life. It doesn't need to make sense to me. All I have to do is try to make the most of it. And that's what I have been trying in several different ways recently. Only time will tell how well that works out.

Awkward

I'm sitting in the same room as my ex. And we're the only two people in here. And we're not talking. Yes, I have music on, and yes we are both on computers. But this remains, regardless, the sort of situation that one would consider awkward.

For a while now, I've prided myself on being the sort of person who does not feel awkwardness, does not experience this phenomenon that people so often try to avoid. But I'll be truthful here and say that yes, this is a generally awkward situation. I don't feel any odd tension in my stomach, but the sheer awareness of this moment is a cross between mildly entertaining and dreadfully unpleasant.

I don't hate this individual, but I don't willingly have contact, either. If it was up to me, I would have avoided this opportunity for contact entirely, but it's turned out the way it has and here we are, no more than seven feet away, each pretending that the other doesn't exist. At this point I'm simply smiling because of the sheer entertainment of writing something about someone that close to me that they will never read.

And this person probably thinks that I'm engrossed in either an extraordinarily entertaining conversation or am relaying a funny anecdote via email to someone. Alas, it is neither. And I am never going to impart the confidence that I was smiling and typing frantically over something concerning this individual of all people. So yes, while a few of my friends and various strangers will be able to read this and imagine the hilarity passing through my mind (fortunately, I think the mood from yesterday has not entirely dissipated yet), the true entertainment remains to me alone. Which frankly gives me a good bit of satisfaction in this instance.

Revelation?

Today has been strange. It all started yesterday, really. I was walking the dog, in the bitter cold of winter, the miserable, biting wind. And I was depressed. I hit rock bottom. I was crying. It was as close to a breakdown as I've gotten in quite some time. I came back miserable, exhausted, defeated, broken.

And that's the mood I woke up in this morning. The dread of having to continue with life, the fear of anything happening, the misery of dealing with everything. I was fully expecting for today to go downhill. Then I had one conversation, one single conversation on a humorous topic full of laughter and entertainment that turned the day around for me.

I don't know how, I don't know why, but I was laughing. And somehow everything got better. Somehow the agony I had been living with faded. I don't know what it was, but it's as if I finally opened my eyes after a nightmare. The world hasn't been fixed, my problems haven't been set straight, but everything is alright.

I can laugh, I can smile. I'm finally alright. After falling to the bottom, it feels as though I have been lifted by humor to the top. I'm still broken, I'm still hurt, I'm still upset, but it doesn't kill me like it did before. Even the head-splitting headache I've had all day hasn't been able to ruin the day. It's incredible. And I don't know what happened, but I'm hoping it stays this way, because I need the change.

Disconnected Thoughts

I've still got things stuck on my mind that I won't write about, and I'm rather tired, and generally not in the mood to actually work toward making this a decent post. So I won't bother. Here's a random collection of some thoughts I've had today, and with any luck there will be at least some sort of logical flow to it...but if not, then oh well.

I love driving. I love feeling the motion and watching seemingly infinite tracts of road disappear behind me. I love how I don't have to think when I'm at the wheel. All I do is feel. I feel the car moving forward, rushing faster and faster through time. I'm getting somewhere, doing something...moving somewhere, going from point A to B, but I'm not exerting myself. It gives me exactly the chance I need to make sense of my life.

Lately, everything has just been going to pieces. Not in the dramatic, crashing sense, either. It's all just been slowly disintegrating. Everything is the same. Nothing is new or exciting. I keep waiting for something to happen, hoping that something might change or that I might get a new opportunity or hobby. But nothing is happening. So I'm just drifting on through time, and as before, I have no reason to live. I'm just moving through this out of habit, because it's easier than actually making a change.

Ironically enough, I've also been thinking about some past posts lately, and piecing them together. I think that maybe I live for pain. It's the only thing that really keeps me going anymore, it's the only thing I feel. It reminds me of the song Pain by Three Days Grace, "'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all." That's pretty much the case for me. And the thing that I would get rid of because it caused so much pain? Love. Exactly. So really, love is keeping me going, right? I'm not sure. I mean, love leads directly to pain which is the only thing I really feel anymore, and thus is the only reason I still bother trying to make anything of my life.

I'm not sure how much sense any of that really makes, though. It's probably better that I don't probe too far into it though. Depression is quite enough without picking it completely to pieces and figuring out how it works. That's actually pretty useless, too, since it doesn't change the way anything is. Here's where existentialism is quite convenient though--it doesn't matter in the end anyway, we're all ging to die, so we can just do whatever we want until then.

Interestingly enough, someone I know said that given 24 hours to live, they would kill themselves then and there. Well that's rather a change from most people's answers of being with loved ones and doing adventurous things, casting aside inhibitions, and whatnot. But where does that line lie? What if it were 48 hours instead of 24? What if it was a week? A month? A year? How does that differ from a lifetime? We all know we're going to die anyway. So where does additional time make it worthless to live any longer? I might actually have to address this question to them sometime...

Alas, I think that's enough useless rambling on my part for the present. Maybe there was something interesting or worthwhile in that, or maybe not. Either way, it's what I've been thinking in the past hour or so, or maybe less. So that's a pretty decent mind-dump for that period of time, I think. And now I'm off to continue my life, doing something or other than I won't even remember a day from now...

On My Mind

I hate writing this. I hate having to put these words down because there are no others that will flow. I hate how I have to release this in phrases and sentences as characters on my computer screen because there is no other way that I can get this out. But the problem is, there's nothing I can do about it. If I don't put it here, I won't be able to put anything else here, either, nor will I be able to think about anything else even for a bit.

That's partially what I hate about how my mind works...this tendency to almost obsess over things I care about. They get into my mind and dominate my thought process. People wonder how I can have one song stuck in my head for weeks at a time despite listening to other music in that time. For me, it's easy. It's part of my thought process. A thought enters my head, and it bounces around for a long, long time as the sole object of my concentration before it finally manages to work itself out. When something gets into my brain, it stays there. So here goes nothing, just because I need to get it out:

I miss the way things used to be.
I miss looking forward to those moments.
I miss not feeling the need to avert my eyes.
I miss having the answers to your questions.
I miss being able to say what I feel.
I miss not being afraid of the truth.
I miss knowing that it somehow worked.
I miss actually understanding my emotions.

And there are so many more.
But the worst part is that I can't say any of it.
I almost wish I could, but by now I've learned to thrive on pain.
I rather think this hopelessness may be the only thing keeping me going.

I'm deeply and sincerely sorry to anyone who knows just what this is about. I'm sorry for the pain it may cause, for the mess of my emotions that you have become embroiled in. The irony of it all is that this may very well be the most miserable I've ever felt about a situation of similar circumstances...but it may also be the best thing that has ever happened to me. Life is rather funny like that. I have no way of knowing how things will work out a year, a month, or even a week from now. All I can do is hold on and see and hope either that something changes or that I can better accept it as it is.

Broken

And the worst part is not being able to say anything unless someone is hurt, confused, depressed. When I'm the one they go to for help with their problems, but always the last one considered for the sake of having fun. Have I forgotten how to have fun? Have I forgotten what it is to not be serious? Have I lost myself in a well of sorrow?

What am I even doing here anymore? I don't know how I went from being a friend to being a therapist. I have no idea how I lost my passion for life or where any joy or creativity I ever had has gone. All I know is that one day I open my eyes and here I am. If it all doesn't matter, then why do we care so much about all of it?

I have nothing left to say. I've learned how to be there for people, how to try and comfort them when they need someone...but how am I supposed to entertain them? How do I make witty conversation? I can't be fun anymore, it's almost like there's some part of me that makes me incapable. Maybe it's too much inhibition, or too little initiative. I don't know. I've become the sort of person who's good in a crisis, but bad in good company.

I will always be who people need. And I will never be who people want.

So here I am, staring at the train-wreck that is my life. I have literally no idea where to go from here. I could try to change myself, but not only do I not know how, I am also afraid to try. So what now? Where do I take my life? How do I try to make this work? I don't know. I am pieces of a life, remnants of a happier past. I am lost, confused, and struggling to figure it all out. I'm just hoping that maybe one day I'll remember how to smile because I want to, not because someone needs me to.

Dance

This is something that I wrote a space of time ago, and I'm putting it here now largely because I am tired, and I do not feel well, and don't think that I am capable of writing anything nearly worth reading, so I'll simplify this for everyone involved. Here is a simple poem, enjoy. Read into it as far as you will.

His hands on her hips,
His breath upon her lips.
Their glances exchanged,
A sorrow deranged.
Emotions held on bated breath,
Ever a question of life and death.
Their dance played out in subtle light,
Illuminating the fancied plight.
A step too far,
The shadowed scar.
Once more reality,
Made her an enemy.
The perfect dance,
Taken as a fated chance.
The game was played,
No words remained.
They left and walked their separate ways,
The walls that darkened with the days.
Him in sorrow as one who seeks,
Her in pain with tears upon her cheeks.
The silence sang into the night,
Each hoping for anything they might.

There is more than one way to read this. I wrote it with specific moments in mind, certain situations, various occurrences. There are semblances of other events in my life, there are also pieces that I doubt even those who know me well would be able to explain completely. It is as it is, and now I will go try to survive through the rest of my day.

Writing

I figure that every once in a while, it is quite possibly worth my time to reflect on writing in general and perhaps my own writing, specifically. This morning, I started writing the story of one event in my life, and I realized that this is probably the first time in several years that I am writing something that I will seriously go back to on a regular basis and re-write or proofread.

So why would I do that? Because this is something that I want to get out, I want to write it and I want to write it well. The ideas in my mind are not enough to properly cover it, I want to be able to express it in words. I want it to be perfect, because that is the sort of treatment such ideas deserve, in my opinion at least.

I've also noticed lately that in several months of blogging every single day, I probably have no more than ten really good entries that I can say I am proud of. Regardless, I still think that the experience has been worth it. Not only does this oblige me to take several minutes every day to reflect on my life and the world around me, but it also allows for such posts to come out on occasion, whereas otherwise they would never have made it out of my head.

My thoughts are perhaps a bit scattered at present, and I am not able to devote as much care and attention to this subject as I may wish, but the fact remains that I have covered most of what I had meant to in this post, and now feel free to move on to the other pressing matters of my life. Here's hoping for more good posts in the next several months.

As The World Falls Away

It's worse than waking from a nightmare. When you sit bolt upright and your breath catches. It's all so much worse when it was no dream, but reality that led to this. It strikes in the middle of the day--nothing amiss, nothing wrong...then suddenly, the choking agony, the realization hits. And there is absolutely nothing you can do to make it go away.

This is repression. Welcome to my world. When you have shoved memories, experiences, emotions, as far back in your mind as they can possibly go, and avoid them at all cost, you set yourself on a path running nowhere, but always running, running from the truth. But as with all things, you can't avoid it forever. And one day, one day it will catch up. So this is where we are, breath catching, pulse racing, and completely unable to comprehend anything but fear.

The only thing that makes it real, the only thing that reminds you of what actually happened is the tears. Of everything to remember from that night, it was the tears on my cheeks that have been burned into my memory, mocking, proving that it was more than a nightmare, that it was the truth. And that is precisely what gives it the power to follow me day after day.

When the past catches you, there's no way to run. You just have to sit there and tough it out. You have to sit there and hope that it will pass as soon as possible, because if it doesn't, it means you're in for a long night of dented walls, bruised knuckles, and many, many tears. And when it all finally passes, you look back at the world and try to smile. But it's a hell of a lot harder after agony, remembrance, and confusion have wracked your body and your mind incessantly over something you still haven't fully understood almost a year later...So then you take a deep breath, and look ahead to the future, hoping to learn as much as you can from what happened before.

Sustenance

To keep going...to keep fighting the uphill battle. What is that? Whichever song it was got it right with, "We don't live, we just survive." Well, that's rather the case in our lives. It keeps making me think about Fight Club. Our generation...or maybe the whole world right now, is rather lacking in anything worthwhile.

What we're lacking in is something to fight for, something to really care about. Here we sit wasting our lives away filled with nonsense and philosophy. We don't have anything to need to be concerned over. Food appears on our tables, we have clothing to protect ourselves from the cold. Now, we don't have to worry about just getting by, so we try to fill the void with something else.

So what now? Life is meaningless, worthless...it's all about working like a dog just so you can pant for a few seconds at the end. Considering all the possibilities we have in life now, that is really rather pathetic. Humanity went through all of the trouble of simplifying things, of making it easier to fill our lives with something other than the fear of death every waking second...and all for what? It's pathetic. That's just about it.

Meaning

As many times as I may ask, "what is the meaning of life?" I have yet to get a satisfactory answer. Each time it all comes back to that we live and we die and nothing matters in the end. Is it really so? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. I do not know. Regardless, that is how life works...something happens, and then something else happens, and then we die.

Whether there is a greater significance to that sequence of events or not, I do not know. Nor do I very much care. Life has reached a certain point where it goes on. The phrase "life goes on" is so simple, so commonplace. Yet so rarely do we really think on the true meaning of it. So rarely do we allow the simple fact to permeate into our mind and allow us to just accept everything as it falls.

What is the better way to live? To just take everything as it comes or to try and assume control over it and not let anything to fall that was not a perfect part of the plan? I don't know. I rather doubt that anybody does. But we still keep living. And it's not exactly because we don't have a choice. In all actuality, we have every choice. Even though it seems as though we are just going along with life, we are making the decision to do so...nothing short of ourselves really forces us to do that.

We lie in wait, hoping for something that will make us feel emotion, or a rush, or anything, really. And sometimes we decide that we have grown weary of action and merely take the initiative...be it harmful or harmless. Such is life. This is what we do. This is precisely how we live. And yes, we can change it. Whether we are going to or not, that remains entirely up to us. Start thinking.

Embarassment

We've all played those games like truth or dare, or never have I ever. And we've almost always had something come out that has been embarrassing to us, at least a little bit. But what is it that really shames us years later? What are those certain aspects about actions and events that tend to bring the blood to our cheeks and make us avert our eyes?

Sometimes we look back on the people we knew, the people we were close to and have drifted away from in so many ways...we wonder why we ever thought they were worth our time, or we try to figure out what went wrong and why we can't still talk to them. We look back on the way we thought about things, the way we justified our actions, the reasons we played out in our heads. When we look back in time, we often find ourselves wondering how we could have been so naive, how we could have been so foolish as to do such a thing.

But in the end, we did. And now here we are, years later, looking back on it, half-smiling, half-cringing in shame, because of how much we have changed. We all have a past, and there is absolutely nothing that we can do about it. The best option is merely to remember what happened and accept it, but not let it control us in the present. Of course, that's much easier said than done...

To Change One Thing

If I was to change one emotion or feeling, if I was to forget how to feel it, what would it be? One emotion. So many choices: pain, fear, agony, hatred, despair. But no, it wouldn't be any of those. What would I choose? It's rather simple, really.

Love.

Why? Of all emotions to remove, the one most often seen as the most pleasant, most beautiful, wonderful, greatest emotion is the one I would choose to get rid of. Precisely. Love is in itself full of pain. At the same time as it brings joy, it carries no less than sorrow.

Have you ever loved someone so much that you would do anything for them? Have you ever loved someone who you knew never cared for you? Have you ever felt so much love that at the same time your soul was being wrenched to bits because of the pain? Have you ever had your heart broken, shattered, and smashed because you loved someone to that extent?

I've heard it argued that the pain of love comes not from the love but from everything around it and everything that comes after it. Perhaps that is the case, but without the love, the pain would not be there to that extent. The joy, the beauty, the excitement of love is not nearly worth the sorrow, despair, and agony that comes of it.

If I could give up one thing, it would be love. Love has too much sorrow with it. Love brings too much pain. Love, like the other most beautiful things in this world, is full of the greatest of agonies. What other emotion could so bring us to tears and to miseries other than that of the deepest passion and caring for someone? Of all things to change, to let go of, to forget...love would be it. No doubt.

Remember

Do you remember that day? Do you remember how I curled up in a corner and you asked me if I was okay? And I nodded slowly, so then you asked again. I said "yes" and turned my head away. And I'm pretty sure you knew that I wasn't, and I'm pretty sure that there was a reason you let me lie there in that corner, curled up and alone in the world.

Do you remember those days when I actually believed that everything was going to be alright? Those were the days when I would smile and tell you it would work out no matter what happened in your life until then. Somehow, even though I was upset then too, I managed to say those words, managed to almost make myself believe them to keep going.

But every story ends, each spool is finally left empty in the making of the tapestry of history. So here I stand at the end of this spool, watching it wind around and around, hoping that the end does not come too soon. And here I stand, not knowing what more to say, what else to think, how else to do. My story may be just beginning, but it feels as though I have hit the end.

I was once told, "life does go on, but we can always remember." So here I sit, trying to understand how to remember without forgetting, how to live in the present without losing myself in the past. Or perhaps I am too late, and all that remains to me now is grabbing back and try to find the parts that I lost without getting held back again by my own pain.

Done

I'm done playing this game. I give up, I forfeit. The misery that it is causing me is no longer worth the fight. It's like that one quote in War Games, "The only way to win is to not play." Well, here I am. And I'm not playing it anymore. It's not worth it. I'm done trying to make something work that never had any chance of developing.

So I guess it's time for me to either find a new game or to do something else with my life in this respect. But I have tomorrow to figure that out. In the meantime, I am exhausted. I couldn't fall asleep last night because I was thinking. And what was I thinking about? This same game of course, the very game which I just now stopped playing.

Perhaps someone who reads this is going to misinterpret it as some foolish, stereotypical game, but that is not what this is. This is a game that determines a major part of my life. Just as children play with fire, so adults play with life, always seeing what can go up in the most spectacular flames without hurting themselves or anybody else. But I have just now realized that this particular game is not life; nor is it safe. So I lay down my hand and walk away.

Confused

I don't know what it is. Something just feels out of place. I have no idea what it is. I'm confused, and...well, confused. Normally, I can figure out exactly what is or isn't wrong. But right now, I'm just completely lost. And I wish I wasn't. But I am. I don't think I'm even thinking straight right now. I don't think the last several sentences even make the least bit of sense.

It doesn't seem to be people. It doesn't seem to be me. It doesn't seem to be...well, anything. I hate this. It's so frustrating. I can't place the problem, which appears to aggravate it. Everything seems wrong, off, improper. But as soon as I look at it, investigate it, try to make any sense of it, I can find nothing off. So what the hell is it?

Also, this is post #100. I don't know if that's something to celebrate or ignore or...I don't know what. I can argue it to be a turning point, or just move on from it. But that's always the question in my life. I never know what my emotions are or lead to. I can't figure any of it out, and then spend hours or days or weeks or sometimes even months mulling over what did or didn't happen...what I did or didn't feel. I don't know anymore. I don't know anything.

What Would Happen?

If someone around you died, and you knew it was going to happen, how would you feel? Guilty? Relieved? Confused? Overwhelmed? Would you have done anything you possibly could have to stop them? Would you have gone to the ends of the earth to do the best for their sake?

Before anyone becomes alarmed, this is a purely hypothetical matter that came to mind largely as a result of watching The Bedford Diaries. But it really is a valid question. We've reached the point in our lives where some things seem to become entirely unbearable, and sometimes people decide to take the available way out. As far as what we would or wouldn't be willing to do about their decision, it may or may not be the measure of true friendship.

On the one hand, it can be argued that if you didn't stop them, didn't refer them to a professional, didn't ruin your life and friendship to help them, you really failed them...because now they have no more life to continue thus. But on the other hand, they were unhappy, and how much can one really be expected to do as far as selfless labor goes.

When the question of life or death hangs in the balance, it is a question of what is the best decision for this specific person in this specific case? And nobody can be asked to make it. We don't have any right to bargain or decide over human lives, those of others or our own (at least in the strict sense that it will, regardless, affect the lives of others). If one is religious, it may be said that only God, or some other deity, has that right. But I am not religious, and do not consider any mortal being as having the jurisdiction over that decision. That there, the powerlessness of it all, is precisely what makes the question so complicated, so challenging.