There are times when I'm in love with life. When the word seems beautiful and full of potential, when every person seems like someone I could find interesting and love, when I feel like there's so much out there and my main crime is a lack of ambition.
And then there are times like right now, when I wonder if happiness, as a sustained concept, is a myth. When I wonder if I'll ever be satisfied with my life, with whatever profession I choose, with my contribution to humanity. For all of whatever talents I may possess, I feel so worthless. I muddle through each day, battered and bruised because I refuse to embrace the authority I am expected to embody, and I find myself a failure. I have accepted this failure, internalized it, if only because I always figured it would happen. But, on a larger scope, I find myself all the more worthless because I've made so many efforts to not be. I've planned, I've tried to be a good person, I've tried to take precautions and form backup plans upon backup plans, and yet I'm still, essentially, worthless.
I happened upon Laura today, walking back from one of my campus groups, and we talked for a few minutes. It didn't hurt as much as the past few times; the pain was more of a dull sense of resigned loss instead of a more poignant rage or regret or sadness. But God, it was like I wanted to love her so much, I wanted to embrace, to know her and be with her as I had because, in her absence, I'd forgotten how wonderful she was. And I wanted love, I want love, so so so much. For all my introspection, I am a private person. I carry myself, carry my weights, and it's difficult for me to let another person shoulder them. It doesn't help, of course, that when I tried to let Laura help me she crumbled under the burden. I know I have support, I know I have people who care for me, I know there are plenty of people who like me. And yet, at the end of the day, I feel so distant, so... blocked. I can't let others in, can't accept their feelings and let my weight be shared.
It's probably because I'm not the me I want to be. That fundamental incongruity means I have a wall built up, a barrier that makes the "real" me inaccessible because she must be protected. It'll hurt too much when she's not, because she's real, unlike the shell. If she's accepted, though. If she's loved, if she's cared for... I don't know. Maybe that will be real.
Yet I worry. Is happiness a myth? Is Laura the best, maybe the last love I'll have? Am I ever going to find something I enjoy and can do well and can help others at? It sounds like such a feeble complaint, in many ways. But I refuse to live my life simply to survive. I just don't know if I'll ever really find the chance to live it any other way.
And then there are times like right now, when I wonder if happiness, as a sustained concept, is a myth. When I wonder if I'll ever be satisfied with my life, with whatever profession I choose, with my contribution to humanity. For all of whatever talents I may possess, I feel so worthless. I muddle through each day, battered and bruised because I refuse to embrace the authority I am expected to embody, and I find myself a failure. I have accepted this failure, internalized it, if only because I always figured it would happen. But, on a larger scope, I find myself all the more worthless because I've made so many efforts to not be. I've planned, I've tried to be a good person, I've tried to take precautions and form backup plans upon backup plans, and yet I'm still, essentially, worthless.
I happened upon Laura today, walking back from one of my campus groups, and we talked for a few minutes. It didn't hurt as much as the past few times; the pain was more of a dull sense of resigned loss instead of a more poignant rage or regret or sadness. But God, it was like I wanted to love her so much, I wanted to embrace, to know her and be with her as I had because, in her absence, I'd forgotten how wonderful she was. And I wanted love, I want love, so so so much. For all my introspection, I am a private person. I carry myself, carry my weights, and it's difficult for me to let another person shoulder them. It doesn't help, of course, that when I tried to let Laura help me she crumbled under the burden. I know I have support, I know I have people who care for me, I know there are plenty of people who like me. And yet, at the end of the day, I feel so distant, so... blocked. I can't let others in, can't accept their feelings and let my weight be shared.
It's probably because I'm not the me I want to be. That fundamental incongruity means I have a wall built up, a barrier that makes the "real" me inaccessible because she must be protected. It'll hurt too much when she's not, because she's real, unlike the shell. If she's accepted, though. If she's loved, if she's cared for... I don't know. Maybe that will be real.
Yet I worry. Is happiness a myth? Is Laura the best, maybe the last love I'll have? Am I ever going to find something I enjoy and can do well and can help others at? It sounds like such a feeble complaint, in many ways. But I refuse to live my life simply to survive. I just don't know if I'll ever really find the chance to live it any other way.
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