Forgive me Father, for I Have Sinned.
It has been a long while since my last confession.
Really though, three years have passed and I am practically in the same location, maybe further from my plight even. My writing is probably worse, stance in life: still confused, and self confidence... it's hard to say (if not the same, worse). Oh, and I am still bashing on myself. Tonight is a night that is particularly bad. Did something happen? No. Not really... my discontent lies in the fact that I am not satiated with life, myself, or anything, really. Every so often I weep about it, to no one at all. About twice a week, to be precise. Fact of the matter is: I just feel lost. I know that that is a terrible cliche and that "everyone feels that way at your age, honey," but really, this is persistent... spanning the entirety of my life. That is not an over exaggeration, either. I cannot remember a time when I did not worry about myself, the world, and my place in it. I fear that, regardless of my whereabouts, the world will never be. By that I mean nothing will ever come of this. That is to say that the world is doomed to have nothing created, nothing discovered, nothing lasting, nothing real and this is all due to the unbearable and inevitable realization that we are destroying everything that gives us life: air, water, land, and faith. We created a slow cured pestilence that no one ever knew could hold such virulence or the devastation it would cause. It hurts to weep inside, yet I stand idle as my planet and people die. I feel helpless, like no matter what I do, what difference I make, it is minuscule and existence is doomed. This feeling makes me stagnant. Too pained to forget and live, yet too hopeless to devote myself to salvation, knowing the effort is futile. I guess some has changed, I am no longer solely the focus of my distaste with myself. Everything I know to be is.
Really though, three years have passed and I am practically in the same location, maybe further from my plight even. My writing is probably worse, stance in life: still confused, and self confidence... it's hard to say (if not the same, worse). Oh, and I am still bashing on myself. Tonight is a night that is particularly bad. Did something happen? No. Not really... my discontent lies in the fact that I am not satiated with life, myself, or anything, really. Every so often I weep about it, to no one at all. About twice a week, to be precise. Fact of the matter is: I just feel lost. I know that that is a terrible cliche and that "everyone feels that way at your age, honey," but really, this is persistent... spanning the entirety of my life. That is not an over exaggeration, either. I cannot remember a time when I did not worry about myself, the world, and my place in it. I fear that, regardless of my whereabouts, the world will never be. By that I mean nothing will ever come of this. That is to say that the world is doomed to have nothing created, nothing discovered, nothing lasting, nothing real and this is all due to the unbearable and inevitable realization that we are destroying everything that gives us life: air, water, land, and faith. We created a slow cured pestilence that no one ever knew could hold such virulence or the devastation it would cause. It hurts to weep inside, yet I stand idle as my planet and people die. I feel helpless, like no matter what I do, what difference I make, it is minuscule and existence is doomed. This feeling makes me stagnant. Too pained to forget and live, yet too hopeless to devote myself to salvation, knowing the effort is futile. I guess some has changed, I am no longer solely the focus of my distaste with myself. Everything I know to be is.