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I am a selfish fool

To be misunderstood by those I love and those I would hope love me in return must be my greatest fear.

I've talked in the past of being afraid of glass elevators. When asked if I was afraid for my life shortly after an assault with a deadly weapon, my answer was "I'm not afraid of much of anything, Sir" and I meant it to the core of my being. I had known that I was in danger, and I knew for the briefest of moments that it could kill me, but fear never entered my mind.

I fear being misunderstood, and in that fear I strive to explain myself to the world to the best of my abilities through my constant ramblings for all to read. Yet, somehow I fail even at that. It doesn't serve to help others to understand me - only to be more confused by me. Those I love are those who are the most confused.

Tonight as I write this, I know that the one person in the world I wish to read it will in the end be denied of that by their own hand.

I've lived through pain and fear. I've had a life that was at times very easy, and at others, anything but. I've lost so much through my travels, and yet I've always maintained my pride and dignity. I refuse to allow anyone to make me into a joke, and I've fought against that my entire life. I've fought against fear, pain and heartache. The time has come when I can no longer fight.

I'm tired. I can not continue to argue a case that in my mind is so clear, when to others it remains as the sea after a storm.

I've rambled, I've shared and I've washed my sorrows into every piece of writing I've shared throughout the last several years, and yet even when I try still harder to be understood, I fail. I am but a hollow shell of what I thought I would accomplish in taking on the task of this project. Not only have I not managed to help others to understand who I am and have been, but I've failed to find who I am meant to be.

None of us know what the future may hold. It's a dark, empty cave that we can either fill with light, or hide within its depths. My art has failed me. My life has failed me. My writing has failed me. I have failed me.

Of all the things on this Earth I would ask for, there is only one thing that comes to mind when asked. All I could ever ask for, all I've ever wanted, was to be remembered and loved.

This blog, this project I have taken on, has been a selfish endeavor of my wanting desperately to be remembered, to hope beyond hope to be loved.

I will not stop this project until I have reached my goal of creating the full 365 stories I've set out to write within a years time, only because I committed myself to doing it. Once this project is done, may I set down my pen and never touch it for a single word from my heart again.





2 comments:

  1. You can not find serenity and piece of mind by making people understand you. hey either get it or they don't. I came to understand that the people who just don't get it, are usually the least significant, or were not truly interested too begin with.... Be yourself. Live your own life without the fetters of other's expectations. It will bring a freer existence and a chance to bring your own happiness.

    ReplyDelete
  2. You often look past those that love you and want to take care of you. Often what you search for in despiration maybe too close for you to see.

    ReplyDelete

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