Reflection from June 19th, 2011 @ Age 29
RE: THE DIFFICULTY IN BEING TRUE TO YOURSELF.
Tomorrow I turn 30. Not sure what to think about it. Except that I want to get this book done and I want to get it done this year.
I don’t know how I’m going to do it; publish this book and all—but I feel like I have to do it. I feel like I need to do it, and like it’s the path I am meant to follow. It’s terrifying though; I don’t know what it could bring. I can imagine the most horrible consequences, which seem entirely possible—and then I can imagine the most wonderful consequences, which seem, well, almost entirely impossible. But maybe that’s just because…I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because it’s far easier to imagine failure, maybe because I’ve been there before. I suppose I have had some success, so you might think I would be able to imagine it. But the kind of success I imagine for myself reaches far beyond what I’ve ever attained to present. It represents something meaningful to me. Nothing I’ve attained thus far, for myself anyway, as far as personal success goes, or outward personal success, has been all that meaningful. Law school and the bar, it just doesn’t mean that much to me. It means almost nothing. It’s not what I want. It just means nothing.
I just get wrapped up in passion, in the heat of the moment, and I feel so much, so much love, so much meaning, I thrive in it. And then life gets back to normal and I get blue, and distracted, and unsatisfied. I need to feel. This medication is not allowing me to feel. I cannot get excited about things, I cannot get depressed—I just cannot feel anything. I am in the middle all the time, and it’s horrible. I suppose this is why people go off of their medications. I suppose this is why I will probably go off my medications. So I write again! Write anything worth reading. And in doing so I will destroy myself…or so I wonder.
I just can’t live like this. I hate it. Stability is wonderful in its own way—its comfortable I suppose. It helps me envision what will happen in the future. Problem is, it’s boring as hell. How can I live a life without passion? No wonder I gave up writing for a year and a half! Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, it would’ve been all junk. Not because my life was junk, or because I didn’t have things going on that were worth writing about; that’s not the case at all. It’s because I’ve lost my passion—I’ve lost my passion for writing, I’ve lost what I love most. I’ve lost the beauty that my mind creates when I feel those highs and lows. I don’t know what to do.
If I continue this life — being a lawyer and being married on the track of having a baby and buying a house, this life — this life that the majority follows, I will never make anything of myself; nothing great at least, nothing worthwhile. How can I reach my ultimate potential when I have to numb my mind from the places where that potential can be reached? How can I go on living like this? I feel like I’m beginning to suffocate. I feel like I am living someone else’s life, someone else’s dream. I feel like I am not being true to myself; I am losing my honesty and I am losing my beauty. It’s horrible.
I just don’t believe that I am meant to follow this “normal” path. I don’t believe I was born to walk the path that most others follow. I truly believe that is why I was born different, always felt different, always followed a somewhat alternative path. I mean, I’ve followed a path that is “acceptable”. And I’m learning that I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be free—and I am not allowed to be free in the life I have created for myself thus far.
You can even see it in my writing, when I am not in a high or a low, or moving towards one, I am nothing. I am boring. When I live without passion, I am living a lie because I am not living as who I am, but how society wants me to be. I just can’t do this anymore.
I don’t know what the future holds, but I want to change it from this path. I want to be successful, I believe publishing my book is the means for accomplishing that. I can’t go on living this lie.