August 30, 2007

• Hmm, well, besides the slight dips (such as now), things haven't been too bad. But life is so often ruled by time, so who knows how it'll turn up. So much for finishing my college essay. 12:38 in the morning. I see I've gotten back into the school year. New Bruce album coming out. Unfortunately, I doubt it'll be to my standards. I suppose I'll stick to the old ones. They never seem to get old.

  Remember that tilta-whirl on the South beach drag?
  I got on it last night and my shirt got caught
  They just kept me spinning
  They didn't think I'd ever get off

  -Bruce Springsteen

  If you don't know already, I deem myself an optimistic realist. A realist in the basic fact my life has been anything but pleasant and optimistic in what the realist sides consistantly argues is a pointless, stupid, and naive will to live. I'm a realist: it defines every aspect of me. It defines why I'm so incredibly cynical. Why I can be sarcastic. Why I'm negative. Why when faced with something unpleasant, I can stare so callously into it and not give a damn. Why I can be obscene. Why my humor is crude, crass, and, at times, vulgar. For every side of me which isn't as pleasant (nor as pronounced) as the happy, willing to please individual so often present in the public eye.

  And yet - I am optimistic. Disgustingly so, my realism would like to add. And it amazes me how I can possibly be so. After all the lies, the half truths, and plain, out-right betrayals, I still believe in people. I still find one of the most rewarding experiences you will ever have is the gratitude of helping someone and being content in the fact you made their life better: nothing more; no other reward. You would think I would not care about others but if someone asks me for help (depending on what they've done), I can't say no.

  I've been suicidal. Had depression. We all know those. And yet even those days when I was lying there, tear streaked, the feeling of utter abandon engulfing me, practically screaming, "Why?" at whatever remote ceiling or sky was in my vicinity, I never lost faith - to an extent never lost hope.

  And under no circumstance am I inspirational. Quite honestly, my realist side would like to say I would have done better to up and have died. It in fact still says that. It in fact argues that my will to not die is in fact completely ignoring the facts that life (or, I should say, mine) is not worth it.

  And yet?

  Point. Point, point, point. That's the focus of my life. What is the point? There has to be a solution. Otherwise, quite literally, there is no point to continue. I'm not going to sugar coat life: I do have depression, will probably have it for the rest of my life. I will probably never have a fully content life. Will probably always feel lonely, to some extent, no matter the amount of friends and who cares simply because my depression will cause me to head towards the negative. Will be miserable. It's not gonna be fun, plain and simple.

  And yet?

  And yet my optimism says, "Deal with it." Think outside yourself. You have people who care. Take comfort in them. If not for yourself, for their sake. They give a damn about you. Would you be so cruel as to throw that back in their face. Okay, you can't live for yourself? Live for others. That makes you happy, right? Work for others your entire life. Even if you aren't happy, you can still do good, help others. Live for others.

  And yet?

  It's human nature to want for yourself. No, I'll phrase that as common sense instead. No matter what, you want something. And I'm faced with the prospect of never, fully and often being happy. And realism takes the advantage and shoves it in optimism's face, putting him back in his place. What's your excuse now? Rot and decay on the inside from your discontent just for the purpose of keeping on living? Are you crazy? Mad? Sure, you'll help others but lot of good that'll do if you lose sanity due to the pain in the end!

  Optimism isn't the offense. At least for me. Never is. It lets realism rant and rave. It allows it the selfish spotlight it craves. It allows it to lecture and inform on its unfairness. It allows it to take the pity. Realism is a fighter, constantly trying to rectify its situation. It gives the facts and nothing but. It looks at what has been. It wants a solution and if there isn't one, it'll say so. Its not shy. Its brash.

  Optimism plays the defence. It looks at probability. It says, "Sure, you may die. You probably will. You will hate your life and yourself, certainly. You will die alone, maybe. Maybe your blind trust and honesty will fuck you over. Sure. But you may help someone too. You may live. And that's worth fighting for."

  Realism: You delusional FUCK.

  • 2:06 am
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