Something so very pleasing...

I've been reading nonstop for the last few days. Many different short stories. Amazing depth in very few pages. Such wonderful emotions. Not unlike a year ago when I was stuck watching a Korean Drama by the title "My Girlfriend is a Gumiho"(9 tailed fox demon). Like with that, it was the remarkable emotion that ensnared my attention. I was utterly captivated. Nobody could understand my fascination. I suppose my heart was leaking emotion and I was steadily attempting to pour more in than what poured out. It felt like a success. I finished the series and felt reinvigorated. It was a sham. Still, I desired it deeply.

I do not truly believe I am alone in this pursuit. Some other person authored it after all. And it made it to my eyes so others have consumed it after all. I know I am not alone. There are thousands of people who, like me, are absolutely fascinated with the emotion contained therein. This year, I have turned to an older, more underdeveloped form of myself. The one where I would read for hours on end to soothe the pains of my existence. I'm not so tortured as I am not able to properly breathe. I am sick. Not physically. Not really emotionally. However, conceptually the argument can be made that my sickness is the epitome of who I am. Instead of saying "I am sick", the sentence should be "I am Sick". And I've said it far too many times. It is how I truly feel. This great unease...dis-easing of consciousness will never heal itself. And there is nothing to be done to bring cessation to this giant pit of emptiness.

They say people study Psychology because they want to figure out what is wrong with self. For years, this has been something I denied. How can I deny it any longer? The statement is an umbrella that pegs curiosity as a motivation; as an egocentric, self-importing way to say "fuck studying the world, I'm interested in myself". This is what I've done. I have yielded much maturity and growth but nothing in the manner of results. But, let's not come to a point of confusion. The amount of joy I experience on any given day is sufficient for life & death. I am satisfied with simply acknowledging that such a love exist. I still crave it. Is desiring such affection incorrect? The answer does not matter. I have decided for myself that nothing is wrong.

I suppose this, in my mental representation, is akin to standing at the mouth of a giant hole that extends deeper than sight with any amount of light and any amount of magnification. And at that mouth, you stand there, tossing in effort attempting to fill that void. No effort is large enough to overcome that requirement. There is no way to fill the emptiness. Who has the courage to stand there, throwing effort into nothingness while knowing the result will not change? I have seen many people come to a point where they settle for less. Where somehow, better than the best is not as good.

I have spent time on people who did not deserve it as to learn how precious my time is to me. I have spent my resources on those who did not appreciate it as to learn to be willing to part with what is scant to me. I have spent my emotion to heal people just for the sake of their smile because that is pleasure for me. I sought to become an admirable man because that is how I could respect me. I have been honest to a detriment and cost myself physical pleasures because I could not suppress my desire to be free of hurtful lies. And still, in very many ways, I violated the same pretenses I had hoped to uphold.

I do not have the words to better bare my soul. These are the best words I have. I understand that my comprehension is only so developed and that my utilization is yet further behind. I feel no frustration in that. I am grateful & appreciative to have come so far. Still, I want more.

This story...these many stories have stirred a great passion which pains me. I have no knowledge of how to acquire what it is that I need. I just know that I must act. I must move. I must for time has been ticking and tocking relentlessly. Every day, the limit gets a little closer and none of these emotions can free me from it. I must do everything in my power to fill that void with effort.

I did not like this week

I have problems. Most of, if not all of my problems can be traced back to one person; myself. It would be silly of me to displace the responsibility for my actions onto some other existence simply because it's convenient. I could have done better. As a result of my failure to do better I have had a week, for which, I do not much care.

We will not delve into the details. Less be said, they were expensive and incredibly rapid penalties for my lack of dutiful preparation. Everything was avoidable. It simply...yeah. Feels like I can't catch a break. Really, I am the person standing in my "own" way.

It's really a cycle of failure that has the gravitational pull of Jupiter and I got a pogo stick with big dreams. It feels hopeless. My attitude has improved over the last few hours. I don't typically stay down too long. But I go down often. I bounce back, stronger than ever only to fall to some new, unseen consequence of being born without all of the answers or resources. Money, money, money.

I wonder if I would feel this upset if I didn't have to deal with the responses that being black brings with it? I seriously do ponder. I know every single person has issues. I know that some of these issues are exacerbated for absolutely no reason at all. But then again, some of these issues have reasons and are perpetuated by extension of some secretly held bias. Well, either way, I didn't come to say "Oh, I'm just a poor black boy. Please take pity on me."

I came to vent my difficulty to some degree and keep it pushing. Things happen. The amount of control is comparable to the amount of purposeful preparation. I failed to plan. I'm reaping those benefits even when such is detrimental. One day, I will turn tragedy to triumph. Rather, I should say, I'll do it again. Bet!