I’d rather live a sincere life, or not at all. Safe is hypocritical. Happiness or sadness is only ever felt by those that ventured beyond their facades. The rest are pitiful creatures that leech off those that have courage and pretend to wear that courage as their own. I despise those invertebrates.They’re social liabilities that add to the angst of being human, but do little, if anything to contribute to the collective wholesomeness that they’re so easily willing to consume.
Cynically Jaded
I often think of the boys who were attracted to me simply out of the virtue that I was introspective and elusive. They didn’t want to be with me because of my questionable beauty, my wavering intellect, or my neutral morality. It was primarily because I was dramatic in my constant reflections. Everyone, regardless of their good or bad humour, has a place deep down in which they question their existence and their inherent value. The size of this place differs from person to person, but it is nearly always there, to even a minuscule degree. And here is me, who is nearly totally filled with this place, whose quotidian inner monologues consist almost solely of “Why am I alive?” and “Why won’t I die?” I suppose many people find refuge in someone whose very existence is defined in this questioning, and in a sense someone like me can reflect that loneliness and pain that is so common in everyone. Perhaps I am a temporary relief, a bandage for your loneliness. I am a form of comfort, of release, in your infrequent quests for appropriation. And yet, one can only be introspective for so long, and that is why people grow tired of me. Initially, I give an air of quiet desperation. Since with me, every moment seems to carry the gravity of eons of absolution. This adds virtue and magnitude to your being. But in the end, we all become exhausted with purpose. In the end, we all want the complacency of boredom. And that is why most people forget me after a while.
Suicide is a reflection of your self-worth, and not the worth that society places on you. We cannot act selfishly and still demand compassion and understanding from others. The two are mutually exclusive, and hypocritical if demanded. Life is therefore not about the rights of the individual, but the rights of the collective whole. Logic and nature dictates that it can be nothing less.
Cynically Jaded
Nothing saddens me more than to witness a soul in the throes of desperation, trying to find significance in the eyes of those that lack the faculties to appreciate the effort, let alone the beauty. Acceptance of self and a minuscule dose of optimism is all that stands between you and a life worth living.
Cynically Jaded
We tend to base our worries or assumptions about the future on the trends of our lives to this point, don’t we? If I think back and see how many times I may have ventured into a relationship or experience with passion and true conviction, and I compare that to how many times it didn’t work out, or worse, worked out horribly…then I automatically recoil at the thought of starting something that could potentially turn out the same way again. But the idealist in me forces me to look at a new experience or a new relationship as exactly that…something new…unless there is a specific and almost direct link to a past experience, I would be defeating myself before I even start if I judged what is to be, based on what has been.
Unfortunately the spineless amongst us will see these trends in us, and they will make haste to use it to our detriment because they, the spineless ones, will see it as an opportunity to express their own passions through the actions of others, whilst withholding their own to ensure that they are never vulnerable. Such is the pathetic state of those that try to be aloof by being shallow and insincere.
A healthy dose of self-loathing is usually sufficient to kill any hope you may harbour inside. But, in the process of trying to convince yourself that you’re worthless, take a moment to observe your insincerity. It’s unnatural for any human to sincerely believe that they are worthless. It goes against the very survival instinct that is hard-wired into our reptilian brains. So instead, the same energy we could have applied constructively to alter our reality into one that is more palatable, we apply it to subdue that survival instinct because along with it comes the torture of hope and expectations. But with that comes a demand for trust…trust of similarly flawed humans that we use as a yardstick to measure our own worth, without realising that the yardstick itself is defective.
What’s the point in desiring to know the future when I have yet to figure out my past? If I knew my past well enough, I’d understand clearly why my present is what it is…and since I obviously don’t have peace in my present, why worry about the future? It’s only through reflection that we are able to become self-aware…only through reflection are we able to understand before we accept…in the absence of understanding, we accept foolishly, or not at all.
To be insecure about virtues or attributes of the self, we have to maintain some notion, no matter how remote, that we possess some of it to begin with. I don’t have such insecurities any longer. Acceptance has allowed me to know with certainty what insignificance I’ve achieved in my life and I therefore have no inclination to seek such acceptance from others any more.
Cynically Jaded
