So I haven't posted in a while. Truth is, I got frustrated--I found that this blog eventually fell to the same ranting all my other blogs did. I used those journals to wring out my psychological grossness, but that ended up becoming fucking tiresome. Feel shitty, get anxious, freak out, post blog about how I'm freaking out, feel better, rinse, repeat.
Yet for all that, years of writing out all my probs only served to remind me what they were. That shit allowed me to keep my feet firmly planted in the muck of the past while I watched everyone else seem to enjoy their (much easier-seeming) lives. I was plagued. PLAGUED, I TELL YOU.
So what the fuck am I doing? Why start a new piece of writing if my pattern itself hasn't changed?
Welp, dear reader, it's because I just realized something. I realized something super ridiculously simple. So simple, in fact, that it took me years to actually understand it.
Life has no goal.
WHOOOA NIHILISM ALERT! No no no, I don't mean that life has no meaning. It has plenty of meaning, much of which we create ourselves. What I mean is--being alive isn't a competition. Losing isn't losing...we INVENTED losing. The only thing you ever have to do is...live your life.
Seriously. That fucking easy.
'Be alive'.
Are you doing it?
Because in the end, it's ALL right. Win or lose. Good or bad. Dali Lama or homeless Bill. If your heaven is a hallowed land of milk and honey or a vat of velveeta nacho cheese with an attached neverending hamster bottle of whiskey--it's alright. Seriously s'aight! Have yours goals, but always remember who created them.
You.
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