And so, why do we hurt the people we love?
This thing called 'love', I've thought about it for years and years and years. With regards to family love, why does it come with so many things? Things they want to give, things they want to take. Do parents ever see their children as human beings? Or just 'my child', like an object?
I have frequently regretted the fact that I was born. I don't see why anyone, if they thought about it, would decide to bring a life into this world. Why would you put them through that? For your own self-satisfaction? For someone to take care of you in your retirement?
I don't think I'm a terrible child. Yes, I am a bad child. But I no longer want to think of myself as 'someone's child'. As we grow older we become able to draw strength and identity from broader reaches of life. From work, hobbies, friends. Are you angry that I'm not who you wanted me to be? I'm sad, but I am not going to change.
My mom says I'm stubborn and fighting in order to be right.
Look, if you ask me if I was right or wrong, I'm not sure what to say. Doesn't it depend on who tells the story? It's neither here nor there. But I am not going to live in this house a moment longer than I must. There have been three times in my life when something inside me has snapped, and this is one of them.
I used to think, if I don't get into medicine then I'll have to shoot myself, because there's nothing else I can think of that I want to do, that is acceptable or successful.
I was terrified to admit there were other things I wanted to do. I thought that if I said it or thought it I would become a loser. Only losers do these things; you say you want it? And you want it not in the way you want sweets, but the way you want a dog—you want it as naturally as you breathe, you want it from the place your heart beats. You want it without hesitation. That just makes it worse. There really is something wrong with you.
And so my journey thus far hasn't been about traipsing through the wilds trying to find the red fruit; it's been about sitting on a hammock and trying to admit that the red fruit exists, it's hanging right there and...that it's okay to admit it exists.
Now I can say 'this is what I want' not through a revelation, but through some mental gymnastics that also leave me a few cents worth of self-esteem. I just need enough to survive. I just need enough to see how this goes, see it through some ups and downs.
With regards to Seneca's quote, well. Life sucks, I won't lie. There are great and good parts, but it's still a laughable farce. Yet if I know that terribleness is the baseline, then I can choose to cry about everything, everyday—or I can actively choose to smile. Not as an act of heroism or courage (that would be irritating) but because
there is a choice between crying about it and smiling despite it. And I've cried about it before. I know how it feels to live that way. I've smiled despite it before, and I know how that feels too. I just want to choose the better way.
Besides, best not to get stuck in the self-pity rut. It's important to keep moving forwards, I've been told, and I think it's right. Just like many things, it takes me some time.