Idea & writing 10/27/2024

Revisions 8/2/2025

I have this incredible distaste for myself, one that doesn't have me working against myself or actively making my life worse. Instead, it is a coldness I treat myself to, where I may have a strong sense that my world is burning but am only there seeing ash. After all, that is what a fire eventually leaves after its final breath, no?

I'm living each day with the expectations of a life long gone, with its dreams already dead and goals having been shattered. What little progress that person thought they were making was a sham... it may have been real steps, a real walk along a path, but just because a path was chosen through some judgement doesn't mean it will address the real problems that led to the search in the first place.

A restlessness beyond definition, if I have to give a literary form, but more accurately, a feeling that despite all the comforts of your life, comfort is not what you desire. Deep down, no matter how much you come to hate it, you desire what frames your life positively and shun that which drags you down: job competence, academic achievement, friends, family, lovers, recognition, food on your plate, a place to sleep, a sense of security, and so on. What you accept as your life, but not a product of your unique personage, fails to excite the part of you that lends a momentum to the self and its ambitions.

In spite of everything we may be doing right, those of us who are critical of ourselves will never be happy behind closed doors, unless behind those doors we are engaged in that which we are dissatisfied with, breaching that horizon of what we wish we were...

Take a moment back to the past, breathe in the air, same as it ever will be. Feel the way you passed through life without a second thought, as if all is calm, even if you know it was not that way at the time.

That same person's work ethic may be admired, their interests seen as peculiarities, and indifference seen as self-assurance, but none of their efforts were ever enough to bring more than another day to exert themselves in.

Was that supposed to be enough? Should I have kept my desires in check, understood that I would have to give up more to get something else out of this life?

Did I truly lack a breadth of experience, or just the will to seek it out?

Did I, feeling my failure creeping in every day, looking back a month and having proof of it, looking back a year and seeing the same person, decide that enough was enough?

Whatever decisions I made then eventually stripped what little hope I had for the future away, and left this new person.

A new self that takes themselves out before considering anyone or anything else.

Who used to see what they hated about others, where others failed them, what they could do, now begins every inner dialog with a preface that names the self as the one to blame.

After all, the entirety of that they have gained in their last years is only a gain on paper, only a gain of potential, a gain yet to be felt... that same person wants to feel now exactly what they are working towards.

The prime suspect of all this, treated as guilty from the moment they entered under question, believing the “free man’s world” itself to already be a prison, does not pine for that freedom, for it is just an illusion held up by those who do not understand the basic elements of life. In its specificity, whether temporal, spatial, emotional, mental, or social, everything that will ever happen is unique. However, each of these occurrences are a repetition of the same form in a different context. One does not have to marry to understand what being married is like, one does not have to be an adult to understand what having a job is like, and one does not have to be sick to understand what it would feel like. We all pick up on more than we experience, and in lieu of experience, why should I devalue what the world is showing me?

This suspect, under their own investigation, no longer cares what prison they end up in. Mental, social, physical, all any would do is make new rules, force a new regimen, and limit opportunity. But who is to say that these are objectively bad things? Only those who watch the lab rat cower in the corner of its cage and laugh, believing that the rat is too different from them, that they would never cower at something greater than themselves, something incomprehensible, something uncontrollable...

One could believe all this talk of losing hope and giving up on lofty goals to be an elaborate defense mechanism from the uncertainty of life’s progression in this world, and I would agree. Why should anything be guaranteed, anyway? Wouldn't that ruin some of the fun and excitement?

I ask though, is it not necessary to give up goals and see what life hands you? In the way that, staring off at the mark of progress or completion, you could run right into a lamppost, or trip over a curb?

For one who never has felt truly connected with another person, who only feels respect for parents, gratitude for friends, and a kind indifference for strangers; who understands that this may be interpreted as love, but is incapable of feeling as such, is this not a most pitiful existence?

I took my disposition, and, seeing its benefits, went all in on living that way for the time offered to me through my privilege. As expected, it brought more indicators of everything being good for me. Good friends, great grades, involvement in sports, healthy lifestyle, and an ability to conduct myself independently and respectfully all was built up using who I was.

But none of that made me happy. It was the feeling of connection, of having most of my day spent around others who talked and did things with me, even if only for a little while, that gave the days weight and meaning.

*I’ve* exhausted everything that is in *my* power, and the only path through, once again, is to change as a person, likely a change that will color my life forever.

Where I’m at and what I’m doing may be vestiges of a life long past, but that doesn't discount me from casting away this weapon of indifference and finding a new reason to pursue the same thing. But this indifference is, to a high degree, my self, and changing that would get rid of me.

How can I navigate something like that again?

To be honest, it scares me. I know everything that happened the first time I gave up on these fake ideals and lost trust in the world as a whole, and it wasn't pretty. I only made it through that because there were people I couldn’t hurt and less expectations to match up to. The world never gave me a punishment for the transgression of failing to enjoy its possibilities, I was frustrated and angry at what felt out of my reach. This time, if I reach out to what I want to experience, arched onto the balls of my feet, teetered on the tips of my toes, leaped up as high as possible and still fail to grasp a single thread, I would have incurred a punishment: that of trying and failing. The capabilities to which I hold myself as good at would have been useless as leverage in a fight seemingly poised against me.

Back then, I tore down all expectations of myself except for the one that listed my worthlessness first and foremost, which should have made any successes more meaningful, but each and every one just left me confused. Why did I continue on with the dreams of the person whose worldview has long since been discarded? Is it truly the path of least resistance that could lead me out all the same, or am I just too blind to notice the valleys and cliffs?

Is diverging from that path of comfort and stability worth it? This is the question I now ask myself, and I once again realize I must include some sort of reason back into my life. Anything to stave off the boredom of life's incessant routine.

If I go through with it, find something to believe in, and fail, either through lack of effort or some unfortune, I’m pretty sure it will break me permanently. After that it certainly will take a miracle to be back to where I was before.

I don't want this flimsy “I don’t care” attitude that I maintain right now. I still do assignments, work for good grades, and try to be a positive in others’ lives. If this fails, I’ll ~~completely give up. Probably to the point of not eating, sleeping all the time or not at all, taking random walks with no phone and no idea of when I’ll be back, avoiding other people because of who I’ve become, not accepting help, and ultimately dying ASAP because I know some alternate reality does not hold tranquility.~~

~~Only in death, a life that believes itself to already have died, or a life that no longer fears death can truly be tranquil. But does that not suggest a lack of desire and action towards life?~~

If this fails, I'll [REDACTED]

Only if you believe your life to already be over, or believe death to be your salvation, could you ever tread back on this motive force built into each of us.

Is it not the natural result that the body's ability to sustain life fails at some point?

Having understood our body through science, we treat it to increase its ability to sustain life.

But what about the mind?

Is it not also a motive force in the mind that compels us to fuel the body with what it needs?

What happens when the mind no longer pines for the health of the body?

Is the mind now the true limiting factor to practical longevity?

One will only know with time.