Mental stability still eludes me, though I have tried with many efforts to secure my psychological well being. Perhaps I must conform to the idea that my moderate insanity is acceptable, embracing a degree of madness with open arms. Rather than try to stave off the effects of continued ill thoughts toward myself, harnessing my feelings might produce a certain amount of profitability that could afford me monetary rewards for my strife. At the very least I will have attempted a fresh approach, rejecting traditional and wearisome techniques in favor for shamelessly seeking to benefit from my own misfortune. And why would I not pursue such a venture? After all, it is my hardship and I alone have the power to diminish it—yet I will not release myself from obsessive captivity, languishing endlessly in a pathetic sea of despair.
How to proceed in this scheme is a bit indefinable, as I quickly recognize the most obvious question: from what perspective is my story interesting? What characters drive the motivation for conflict and climax? How do I relate the various disjointed events and what will comprise the resolve? Simply pondering these concerns already has my head spinning and I am sufficiently bored with the impending task. Still my pen seems cathartic in a way, allowing me to rake my stick through the sands of the Zen stone garden, creating meaningless patterns that somehow calm my eruptive soul. If only one could flip a switch to turn on and off such passion and fervor, I would probably not be writing any of this. The exhausting deluge of depression I keep spewing is enough to drive even the sanest person to lunacy. My evidential weakness surfaces immediately when discussing any of this with friends, and their contempt for my ongoing choice to walk wounded is appropriate to say the least.
Back to the story. For some cursed reason, I am unable (or unwilling) to let things go. When I am slighted or treated unfairly, it is almost impossible for me to shed my concern for what others think. Lovers, who once held complete attention of my heart, have an especially stinging, long lasting impact on my self esteem, hope in the future and general ability to move on with my life. Everything presented here so far has happened to millions of others; I am far from unique in my perceived plight. Yet I am constantly taken by emotional surprise, illuminating my curiously infinite naivety. Why are some people able to forget others in an instant? How can one so easily forget his experiences with another? Are people really capable of being so cruel? These questions and more cloud the corners of my mind, identifying my own ignorance in light of present and historical social reality. What I casually and quite incorrectly classify as a dignified utopianism is actually nothing more than voluntary stupidity.
I endeavor to avoid being too harsh on myself, but there are simply too many faults to ignore. Though my defects have not induced within me a devious or unlawful nature, my persistent acquiescence to my belief in the universal human connection has recurrently blocked my path on the journey of life. Thinking that all beings desire to establish and preserve a healthy connection with others, I foolishly entangle myself in relationships that will yield only heartache. Though I have never preferred logic when exploring my associations, perhaps Wilde was correct in suggesting that a modest amount of science would greatly improve the chances for relationship success. Disregarding tell tale signs during a blossoming liaison of any sort is most harmful, and in my experience almost always ends in calamity. Reluctantly, I admit the difficulty in heeding my own wisdom, as I much favor the unpredictably ruinous possibilities of such folly. When answering why this is so, one must immediately abandon reason and, yet again, swim in the sea of chaos.
Refusing to let go of love lost has inhibited my efforts to become a whole, healthy single person. Always hoping for companionship, I have never allowed myself to be comfortable existing independently. I have spent a lifetime trying to surround myself with others, even at the expense of being among bad company. As a child I remember relentlessly searching for friendship, hoping to quell my needs of affection and external validation. Until recently, I have never lived alone in my adult life, always replacing lost roommates with others, securing the bedrooms of my home with living, breathing persons to make me feel secure. It is safe to say that I still possess this mission, yearning for others to be significant and present parts of my life. Failed love, then, is the pebble I cannot pluck from my shoe. As gruesome as it sounds, coping with the passing of a loved one has proven easier than dealing with my internal dilemma. Surely accepting the reality of my codependent tendencies has been somewhat humiliating, but identifying the heart of this behavior is a necessary venture.
~ ~ ~
Profiting from this jar of jumbled thoughts is now a distant memory, as recent travels to the Northeast have once again altered my perspective. Upon arriving home, people immediately noted my apparent “refreshed” appearance, citing a certain “glow” about me. Skeptical at first about the physical evidence of my rejuvenation, I began to realize that something within me had indeed changed—a turning point that occurred thousands of miles from home. Being away from regular life allowed me see the world in a new light, glimpsing the people around me with fresh eyes, free from the deep skepticism that had slowly enveloped me over the past few months. Not to say that I was instantly cured of all torment, but there was an unmistakable change in my attitude, liberating me to think positively and clearly about the future. Visiting New York has frequently coincided with major events in my life, but this latest holiday forced me to be myself, by myself, and get up and go. Walking among millions of businessmen, tradesmen, merchants, teachers, students, immigrants, and artists showed me that everyday people deal with everyday problems one step at a time, moving one foot forward then the next. Stepping onto the subway, the masses move great distances to meet the needs of others, securing their own well being while serving a greater purpose in the community... Waxing nostalgic about the ebb and flow of the great city is not my purpose here; that enterprise will be saved for another entry.
For the first time in memory, I can honestly say that I am comfortable with who I am, a single man. There are many roads before me, and many good things to come. Though hard times will still ensue, the power of knowing my own self worth is more than enough to move forward, pressing on to be something greater. Friendships and relationships are still very important, but they will not rule my life, dictating whether I am up or down. Part of being human is espousing healthy associations with other people, and gradually I am learning how to balance emotional attachment when establishing and maintaining relationships. A work in progress, I now have hope that I can function as a healthy individual, continually aiming to better myself while reaching out to countless others whom I am grateful to have in my life.
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