I tried to sleep prematurely...
... and now I'm just awake with thoughts. I'm also on Harrison because I needed to download something from Clubbox and Rutherford doesn't have Clubbox installed, and I'm remembering now how much I tactilely love this keyboard. I never made typos on this thing because it could keep up with me. XD.
Anyway, I haven't written a proper entry here for a good while now, and, well. Things never quite look up for me because I always manage to poo on everything and everyone I love and then set fire to it just in case the poo wasn't enough. I suppose some amount of that can be reasonably explained (if not justified, never justified) by the depression, but I can never quite get over this niggling feeling that I'm inherently a bad person, or that even though maybe I didn't mean to be hurtful, deep down that's just who I am.
In my Buddhism class last quarter, the professor once mentioned a notion belonging to one of the branch Buddhist ideologies that between good people and bad people, the worse offenders are the good people, because they're hypocrites -- the bad people are honestly and openly and acknowledgingly bad, but the good people are simply bad people pretending to be good and placing themselves above others.
It's an interesting idea, at least, and I'm not sure how much I buy into it -- because even after some post-Golding philosophizing, I do believe in the inherent goodness in humanity -- but I do wonder sometimes how much of that applies to me. I like to think that I'm a good person, and that I try hard and that mistakes are simply mistakes and that otherwise I'm worth the occasional distress, but what if I'm just a hypocrite? What if I'm masquerading around as a good person, and then when I let out some of my badness I get doubly upset because I've so thoroughly deceived myself into believing in my own postured goodness? These days all I see is the distress and the discomfort and the pain I cause, and even though I never feel that way about other people, the entire set of all-encompassing negatives applies to me. What if it's taken a couple dozen years for me to finally come to terms with that part of me -- that badness -- and what if all the people around me are the actual good people, taking pity and making sacrifices and giving, giving, giving so much of themselves with nothing reciprocal to show for it? I'd like to think it not true, but the thought makes me dreadfully uncomfortable. I don't want to be ungrateful for kindness, and I don't want to take people for granted, but how can I possibly make up for all of the times people have taken care of me, in a way that's fair and truly equal? I can't, I don't think, and that's where my potential goodness falls apart. There isn't enough of it in me to make up for the rest of it.
There are a number of things that exacerbate my condition, and I think one of them is my utter, physical revulsion at redundancy. This applies to a lot of different things, some more consequential than others, but I do think it also applies to my attitude about who I am and who I should be. I hate being a part of the crowd. I hate feeling like I don't serve some specific and uniquely productive/affirming purpose. It's not good enough for me to just exist; I have to make some kind of difference, and feel like I'm making some kind of difference, that I'm a name and a face that stands out, instead of just a number. I like the idea of simple existence making a difference, of course, but again, I apply it to all of the people in my life except myself. My exceptionality in my own mind is of the most dangerous and destructive nature.
Not looking for reassurance and whatnot (though I do appreciate that you all think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye, etc.). Just had things rolling around in my head that I wanted to write out, for once.
Anyway, I haven't written a proper entry here for a good while now, and, well. Things never quite look up for me because I always manage to poo on everything and everyone I love and then set fire to it just in case the poo wasn't enough. I suppose some amount of that can be reasonably explained (if not justified, never justified) by the depression, but I can never quite get over this niggling feeling that I'm inherently a bad person, or that even though maybe I didn't mean to be hurtful, deep down that's just who I am.
In my Buddhism class last quarter, the professor once mentioned a notion belonging to one of the branch Buddhist ideologies that between good people and bad people, the worse offenders are the good people, because they're hypocrites -- the bad people are honestly and openly and acknowledgingly bad, but the good people are simply bad people pretending to be good and placing themselves above others.
It's an interesting idea, at least, and I'm not sure how much I buy into it -- because even after some post-Golding philosophizing, I do believe in the inherent goodness in humanity -- but I do wonder sometimes how much of that applies to me. I like to think that I'm a good person, and that I try hard and that mistakes are simply mistakes and that otherwise I'm worth the occasional distress, but what if I'm just a hypocrite? What if I'm masquerading around as a good person, and then when I let out some of my badness I get doubly upset because I've so thoroughly deceived myself into believing in my own postured goodness? These days all I see is the distress and the discomfort and the pain I cause, and even though I never feel that way about other people, the entire set of all-encompassing negatives applies to me. What if it's taken a couple dozen years for me to finally come to terms with that part of me -- that badness -- and what if all the people around me are the actual good people, taking pity and making sacrifices and giving, giving, giving so much of themselves with nothing reciprocal to show for it? I'd like to think it not true, but the thought makes me dreadfully uncomfortable. I don't want to be ungrateful for kindness, and I don't want to take people for granted, but how can I possibly make up for all of the times people have taken care of me, in a way that's fair and truly equal? I can't, I don't think, and that's where my potential goodness falls apart. There isn't enough of it in me to make up for the rest of it.
There are a number of things that exacerbate my condition, and I think one of them is my utter, physical revulsion at redundancy. This applies to a lot of different things, some more consequential than others, but I do think it also applies to my attitude about who I am and who I should be. I hate being a part of the crowd. I hate feeling like I don't serve some specific and uniquely productive/affirming purpose. It's not good enough for me to just exist; I have to make some kind of difference, and feel like I'm making some kind of difference, that I'm a name and a face that stands out, instead of just a number. I like the idea of simple existence making a difference, of course, but again, I apply it to all of the people in my life except myself. My exceptionality in my own mind is of the most dangerous and destructive nature.
Not looking for reassurance and whatnot (though I do appreciate that you all think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye, etc.). Just had things rolling around in my head that I wanted to write out, for once.