Getting Worse
I have to laugh.
When attempting to console myself, how often have I used the expression "Things could be worse"? More times than I could possibly recall. It seems an easy go-to. And it's no wonder why. It can be quite comforting to put into perspective just how good you really have it when compared to the lives of others far less fortunate.
But I do find it interesting how it's always been sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy for me. Which is to say that, yes, while things could always be worse, as if encouraged by this fact, they also persist in continuing to get worse.
There are people who don't know where their next meal is coming from, when it might be, or if it will come at all.
There are people who strap flattened plastic soda bottles to their feet as the closest facsimile to shoes they can manage.
There are people that can't even move because their bodies have deteriorated or have been infected, and now serve as nothing more than a rotting shell; a time capsule for their consciousness to inhabit, left with literally nothing to do but wait for release.
I look at my life now, and compared to those above and plenty more not mentioned, it's kind of amazing how much I have to be thankful for.
And yet, relative to my own experience, it's safe to say my life has never been worse, and I have no reason to have expectation of any kind whatsoever for this trend to do anything but continue.
That's the thing that really frightens me. Suffering is so much more easily endured if one can predict a finite timeline for it. But if things could always be worse, and things only ever get worse, then the math would suggest a one-way vector without any end in sight.
Who knows. Perhaps a pleasant surprise awaits me. But I don't dare hold out hope for it. Things will be how they will be. And I will, of course, accept it. Naturally. I have no other choice. All I can do is return to this space after some 7 and a half years of silence as a last, desperate outlet to vent.
In a way, it's perfect, really. I used to feel some level of bitterness about how nobody read this journal, which made it all the easier for me to cease bothering with it. But now, I rather appreciate it. My philosophy with keeping such a journal has always been to use it as a tool to sort of mentally exfoliate. But I had noticed a pattern of people that used to read my entries feeling as though my apparent negativity was taking a toll on them personally. The last thing I ever wanted was to be a burden. But if this now desolate, otherwise abandoned online space is now little more than lonely code drifting eternal in the digital abyss, I can indulge myself free of concern for how my feelings might affect others.
I doubt this entry represents my return to this journal. But I've been wrong before.
I guess I just like knowing it's still here if I need it.