XCII

Humbled 

So, I've hit a wall. I've gone without writing for a while and, apparently, It's done me no good. 

I started out questioning existence, our journeys, interactions. I seemed so wise. Yet, lately I've come to a grand and startling conclusion:

I know nothing. 

Absolutely nothing. 

Less than nothing.

So, does it any good to even ask for help? For no amount of cheesy quotes and personal testimonies seem to be alleviating this funk. I don't know what I need, nor what I want out of life. I simply exist. Humbled, I guess, by the fact that, for now, maybe just existing is good enough. 

XCI

Last Week, My Friend Died.

I used to be on a highly competitive swim team; I don't believe I have ever told you that. In my past experiences on the swim team, I came in contact with a girl named Rachel, who was a few years younger than I. She was nice but spoiled, well-meaning but annoying, as most rich, suburban, private school kids are. There were times at which I hated her. After all, meeting under the context of competition breeds some anger and resentment towards others. 

But she died too young, killed by a drunk driver in a nasty car accident. I didn't make it to the honorary service that was held at her Christian private school, I missed the visitation, and I missed the funeral.

You see, we had been out of touch for a few years. But none of that matters, for death either reconciles people or it pushes them further away. Death causes me to forget the years we were not in contact; I still view her as my old middle school friend that pushed me to swim faster. And I still cried multiple times over the news of her death. Death reconciles people throughout time and space, for in it we all have a brief moment when we come to terms with our own mortality. For a moment, we are all alike. In this death, we are reconciled.

And so this is the best eulogy I could write for an upcoming high school senior who died too young. All I have left to say is that I do hope there is an afterlife, and I hope Rachel finds it to be well.

XC

Why Judge

"Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would get the happiness inside him. Many people thought he was mad and stupid for doing so because the paint was toxic, never mind that it was obvious that eating paint couldn’t possible have any direct correlation to one’s happiness, but I never saw that. If you were so unhappy that even the maddest ideas could possible work, like painting the walls of your internal organs yellow, than you are going to do it. It’s really no different than falling in love or taking drugs. There is a greater risk of getting your heart broken or overdosing, but people still do it everyday because there was always that chance it could make things better. Everyone has their yellow paint."

Though this quote is completely cheesy, I happen to love it, for it makes me think. We have have our own way to kill our sadness, so why judge other people for that? 

LXXXIX

Courage 

"Courage, dear heart"
-C.S. Lewis

Courage. We must call ourselves to courage. In the face of heartache, we must learn to be firm and strong. 
I must learn to be strong.
C.S. Lewis also wrote that to love anything is to be vulnerable. And it's better to be vulnerable and heartbroken then cold and selfish, isn't it? At least that's what I tell myself. 

LXXXVIII

But I don't. 

"So, this is my life. I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that can be."
-Charlie, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Maybe I'm writing this to find solace because Lord knows I need it. It's getting bad again, and I'm not sure how to deal with life. You'd think, as a young adult, I would have at least have some part of my life figured out. But I don't. Not one single part makes sense. Which reminds me, I got coffee with my friend Jake the other day, and he says nothing happens for a reason; it's all just chaos. And I'm not sure if I agree with him or not.

LXXXVII

Bottle of Xanax

Heart pounding. Hands shaking. Racing thoughts.

Anxiety.

Twist off top. Bottle of Xanax. I swallow.

Calm.

But am I still the same person if my emotions are gone?

LXXXVI

A Place Where I Belong 

The soft squeal of creamy milk foaming, the buzz of brewing espresso, the soft humming of terrible indie music playing, the intermittent shouting of various names -- this is my soundtrack. Coffee shops have become my lifeline. 

Skipping class in classic college style, I find myself back at the same spot in the same coffee shop. Some days feeling good. Others, feeling like shit. Yet, always returning here. What can I say? I guess I'm just a creature of habit. But I find that maybe there's more to it. Why do I return here? Because I don't always enjoy exchanging $5 for a mediocre cup of coffee. 

I believe we never lose a grasp on our security blankets. As a young child, we get weaned off our blankies just to cling to something else. Maybe I'm just forming this into my habits because I seek solace. I crave comfort -- a place where I belong. But is that not what we all try to find along our earthy journeys? 

LXXXV

Creating and Destroying 

"Destruction is a form of creation."

- Donnie Darko

As an artist, I know this to be true. In artwork sometimes, destruction is creation. In the semi-recent news, a man punch a hole in a multi-million dollar Monet painting. At first, I was outraged. How could someone ruin the integrity of the piece? But after further thought, I realized, In destroying it, He created  his own piece of art, at the cost of his freedom. How is that not art?

A woman created a piece in an esteemed New York art museum by making out with a wall. Her lipsticked stayed. Art was created. 

With these, it leads me to believe, anything can be art. Creation. Destruction. Even just circumstances. Are we not creating art in the way we dress, act, think, feel? We live life creating and destroying, and, then, we, ourselves our destroyed. Nothing is more poetic and artistic than life itself.

LXXXIV

Beyond Our Grasp 

"Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time."

- Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston

For some, dreams are just beyond our grasp, but does that necessarily mean we're settling for less? Some view dreams beyond their grasp, and still chase them. Other, simply change their focus. Which one is better, you might ask. To chase or to refocus? I, myself, am quite unsure. 

LXXXIII

Maybe She Was Right 

A young woman, full of anxiety, wrought with depression, gently sits down on a love seat in a small room. Glancing, in front of her, she sees her therapist, a middle-aged woman quite put together in proper Southern fashion. Together, they discuss her present ailments, the majority of which revolve around a guy. (I know that's not very feminist of me.) This guy, was introduced to her life story, through a message on a social media website. The main question lies, "Can he be trusted?" The man, slightly older than the woman, is plagued with crippling anxiety, which prevents him from talking on the phone or skyping, crippling this developing long-distant romance. The young woman is convinced, despite the distance and the anxiety, this man is what she wants. The therapist believes otherwise, for how can he continue to make her happy when he is hindered, left unable to communicate in the fashion she desire? He cannot fulfill the requirements placed upon him. Is that minor, something to be overlooked? Or is this a major predicament in the best interest of the young woman's safety because, after all, how is she comfortable meeting up with a man she has yet to meet? Consumed with fiery passion, the young woman is convinced the therapist must be mistaken. However, given some time, she is starting to realize, maybe, he isn't entirely who he claims to be.

And to think, before therapy today, I would have told you we belonged together, the man and I.

LXXXII

"The One"? 

But is there such a thing as "The One"? Or do circumstances just align so two people's choosing of each other can prosper? Did that one guy say the right thing at just the wrong time, so because of timing we aren't meant to be. Two specs of dust in a celestial infinity, but are these chance encounters with certain people actually purposeful? Is there a bigger plan at work here? 

In different infinities, do we end up together, even though the timing was wrong. Our orbits are pulling us in different directions. I do hope in another world, in a different infinity, we end up together. However, is wishing such a think devaluing or debunking my current relationship -- a person who just happened to say the right thing at the right time? 

Maybe I'd be just as happy with someone else, so why choose him. And yet, I can't seem to want to be without you.

LXXXI

A Decline 

My ponders never ceasing, constant thought raging beneath the layers of skull and skin. 

Hard pill. Cold water. I swallow.

No longer suicidal. No longer much of anything at all. 

Numbness surrounds me, like the dial of my feelings has been turned way down. 

What was I pondering? I no longer remember now. My depth has shallowed.