I seem to have taken a break from this statue to my pride, a private statue in a public place, a scribbled graffiti in the rafters. It exists, but if no one sees it, does it really serve a purpose and is it really necessary in the long run? Anita heart Norman. A monument of a moment in time, a piece of memory to the ones who wrote it but a defilement nonetheless.
But the reason for the large gap was a doubting my worth, a doubting of who I was and
why I even wanted to be a creator of anything in the first place. Did I do it for the sheer need, for fame or money? No, for a much smaller and paltry purpose, I create because I want love and acceptance. I doubted how I had been living my life. I had finally become accepted, I had friends, a boyfriend who loved me and I him, a home, that was unlike my family home. As it turns out, I create only in the throes of deepest turmoil, of extreme loneliness. And this is all rather cliche, I'm aware, but. . . I think it is the truth.
People make changes, do things in their life for different reasons, they doubt for noble and (seeming) meaningless things, but for whatever reason they do, it doesn't makes their feelings less real, less painful or pleasurable.
I questioned my life once, not in the throes of emotion, making a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but questioning whether it would be better for me to die early rather than suffer a seeming eternity of mediocrity. Oh yes, the experiences would most likely be better for me, but was it worth the cost of boredom? So I resolved to die. I would not hurt myself, because that is a desecration, but to waste away, to neglect myself, since I was half-there already, to just continue to journey, to isolate myself and create with my dying sentiments. It was pure romantic nonsense, and the next evening I couldn't keep myself to my inward pledge, since it was awfully silly. But it didn't make my self-pain any less painful, any less a lesson. I had reneged my promise to the princess of the wrong kingdom when I had become lost in my quest for happiness. I wished I could have kept my honor, but I desired my life over my nobility. After logical thought, I realized I did not want to be endlessly tilting with the futile windmills of death for all eternity, endlessly missing out on the summer blockbusters that everyone is going to be talking about when you go back to school.
"I got married and raised a family" "I thought I was going to grow up to be a bachelor all of my life, but then I found her." "I taught children how to think, you to reason and make good decisions" "I devoted my life to helping the less fortunate find jobs and contribute to their happiness." "I killed myself when I was almost 20 in a fit of pique, of the questioning that we are all subject to when we are in the company of ourselves"
I must have been emotional then, not to see the logic. It would definitely not be better for me to die at this time, and maybe I should suffer through the tedium for now, suffer through it like I have done all my life, by creating my own floating cloud-castles and only coming down to resupply for food and toilet paper.
It is not a good living, it makes you distant from other people, cold , cynical and bored with the guided life that everyone else leads. Get up early in the morning, go to work/school, do the tasks assigned, go home, do more tasks, keep up with the Johnsons, follow society's rules, go to sleep and escape from it all until you are woken by the alarm. It sounds like I'm going through a mid-life crisis or something, or I am a teen-ager. Maybe I am both. Maybe also, rebelling gets old. It is self-centered and selfish, a bubble only for you. There is only the lone rebel.
Those packs of teen "rebels without a clue" who are disdained because they rebel in self-contained cliques who tend to dissipate, because while the concept is quite the high school ideal, it collapses because high school ideal is also a concept.
And so I stopped rebelling all this time, I quite happily gave up selfish pride to become happy for once in my life. But now that happiness is empty and soaked in the color of regret and soul-sickness. So while I desire to be filled with love once again, to be normal, I cannot. Maybe it is fated that my life will be filled with this loneliness and distance. And maybe. . . I should learn to be happy with myself and not exagggerate my differences to make myself seem more important in my own eyes. But I suppose I must suffer through it for my own-wellbeing.