Journal #1
I’m tempted to pour over social media again.
Blowing more time away with doom scrolling rather than sitting and listening to my own thoughts. There were so many more things I wanted to talk about, but the time went by so fast today, the day before that, and the day before that.
Instead of obsessing over Zozo’s last year and feeling hopelessly ineffectual in the months leading up to his death, I can think about the fourteen years we had together where I saved him, but in doing so he ultimately saved me.
Fuck.
I can already feel the impulse to run from myself cueing up in the back of my mind. Most of my more compulsive behaviors are easily corralled, but I have one that refuses unbridled submission to the will of logic.
The overwhelming shame, guilt, and inadequacy that walk beside me everyday demand the completion of an unachievable task in exchange for their departure. Subconsciously, I know this impossibly high bar I set for myself ultimately prevents me from living out my dreams as any normal human would on any given day.
Instead, I busy myself with an obligation I have set forth, a way to redeem myself in the eyes of humanity by healing the globe with some previously unforeseen method.
I know the possibility of completing this is outlandish, not because I don’t think the world can change, or that it’s unthinkable to believe one person could have the power to tangibly shift consciousness for a generation of desperately lost souls seeking peace within themselves. It’s just that the rational part of me genuinely wants to know if it’s even possible achieve.
If someone can devote their life to uncovering a grand unified theory, or run experiments to quantify the mechanics responsible for our existence, or build a machine that may one day fly, then why can’t one person find the magic words to wake everyone up from the nightmare of complacency.
I still believe in the goodness and purity of human beings. I wish to protect that, and contribute to a world where we are safe to express the beauty that lays dormant within us.
Having a clear understanding that I may be a delusional fool for attempting to produce the key to healing a generation’s trauma, I think I still want to try. For no other reason than the fact that I just want to put the idea to rest.
And of all my compulsions, this might be the least offensive.