(no subject)
I am back to where I was in October in 2008, how quickly three years pass. Moreso, I'm in a familiar place, but as time progresses the same thoughts or concepts are more fully understood -- I am more aware of myself.
The tragedy of crazy people is that they don't know they're crazy -- this is only defined by their lack of understanding and in comparison to what we consider general normalcy. I believe we're all in line with this, though it may not take on as a severe observation to deem it so.
I am truly a strange person, and I wondered if it was just me, that I could change. But I am who I am, the one that many forget, and the one that few will remember. And don't we all feel this way at some point or another?
I've wondered what living my dream life would be like, many of which seem materialistic and superficial, but isn't that what most of our innate desires are? I could be coming back to my bed, in a different city, in a different apartment, in a different bed -- but though all these things may change, it's still me in these scenarios. And that, cannot change.
Is this a question of life in its grandiose form? No. Is it me trying to figure out who I am? Possibly, in the sense of purpose. But moreso, why? And this isn't for myself, but in general. Why?
I find and have found myself applying this question to everything.
I've questioned why my life is the way it is, why I think the way I do -- but that's who I am. And I cannot change that. I keep believing it will get better, and hope for a change. Change in myself.
My best friend from college had his second son -- and this is when I realized how disconnected from life I have been. I felt nothing, there was a complete lack of emotion. Only until I held another newborn in my arms I felt life -- a tingling sensation, that the newly-formed being in my arms was representative of so much life. A stream of possibilities, emotions, memories to be had. But as quickly as this feeling came, when I left the hospital shortly after to return to work, the emptiness returned.
Do I feel the need for pity? No. Do I need attention? No. I'm quite accustomed to the way my life has ended up to this point. It's not a sense of hopelessness I feel, but acceptance. Acceptance that the way my own life is going, will never change. That I cannot enjoy life more because of my innate way of thinking.
People ask me, what I like to do for enjoyment. I usually reply, anything when I'm not working. And this is true. But moreso, I find the best times I enjoy myself are when I lose myself. When I am distracted enough that these prevalent thoughts are temporarily forgotten, and pushed to the back of my mind. It's all empty really, drinking with people that could care less, partaking in activities that regardless if I am there will continue as it would. Everything is so empty, pointless, that all these things we try to do are meaningless. In the end, what is gained.
To be like those that I see around me, cities full of these people, roads of traffic with people who have somewhere to go, somewhere to be -- but most of these same people keep pushing because they're supposed to do, but are they really happy?
This is not to say that I disregard those I hold dear, for those are the connections that are my lifelines to life, that I know that something is there. But even these connections I view differently than another individual -- that these connections are the very same that I do not maintain and forget myself as much as those I wish would remember.
Life is different for everyone, and everyone views it differently. And that is why it is a beautiful thing. But it's important to keep in mind in the fact that it IS different for everyone, and for some, as seemingly ideal as it may seem, life isn't for everyone.
The tragedy of crazy people is that they don't know they're crazy -- this is only defined by their lack of understanding and in comparison to what we consider general normalcy. I believe we're all in line with this, though it may not take on as a severe observation to deem it so.
I am truly a strange person, and I wondered if it was just me, that I could change. But I am who I am, the one that many forget, and the one that few will remember. And don't we all feel this way at some point or another?
I've wondered what living my dream life would be like, many of which seem materialistic and superficial, but isn't that what most of our innate desires are? I could be coming back to my bed, in a different city, in a different apartment, in a different bed -- but though all these things may change, it's still me in these scenarios. And that, cannot change.
Is this a question of life in its grandiose form? No. Is it me trying to figure out who I am? Possibly, in the sense of purpose. But moreso, why? And this isn't for myself, but in general. Why?
I find and have found myself applying this question to everything.
I've questioned why my life is the way it is, why I think the way I do -- but that's who I am. And I cannot change that. I keep believing it will get better, and hope for a change. Change in myself.
My best friend from college had his second son -- and this is when I realized how disconnected from life I have been. I felt nothing, there was a complete lack of emotion. Only until I held another newborn in my arms I felt life -- a tingling sensation, that the newly-formed being in my arms was representative of so much life. A stream of possibilities, emotions, memories to be had. But as quickly as this feeling came, when I left the hospital shortly after to return to work, the emptiness returned.
Do I feel the need for pity? No. Do I need attention? No. I'm quite accustomed to the way my life has ended up to this point. It's not a sense of hopelessness I feel, but acceptance. Acceptance that the way my own life is going, will never change. That I cannot enjoy life more because of my innate way of thinking.
People ask me, what I like to do for enjoyment. I usually reply, anything when I'm not working. And this is true. But moreso, I find the best times I enjoy myself are when I lose myself. When I am distracted enough that these prevalent thoughts are temporarily forgotten, and pushed to the back of my mind. It's all empty really, drinking with people that could care less, partaking in activities that regardless if I am there will continue as it would. Everything is so empty, pointless, that all these things we try to do are meaningless. In the end, what is gained.
To be like those that I see around me, cities full of these people, roads of traffic with people who have somewhere to go, somewhere to be -- but most of these same people keep pushing because they're supposed to do, but are they really happy?
This is not to say that I disregard those I hold dear, for those are the connections that are my lifelines to life, that I know that something is there. But even these connections I view differently than another individual -- that these connections are the very same that I do not maintain and forget myself as much as those I wish would remember.
Life is different for everyone, and everyone views it differently. And that is why it is a beautiful thing. But it's important to keep in mind in the fact that it IS different for everyone, and for some, as seemingly ideal as it may seem, life isn't for everyone.