I'm watching The Incredible Hulk on FX and occasionally thinking about licking all over Edward Norton. This prompted me to consider my ideals, which (of course) brought me to the subject of inventory.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
The Search Begins...
I'm tired of putting band-aids on problems instead of treating the problems. I finally met with a counselor today.
I'm not sure whether I'm attempting to reinvent myself or discover myself. Either way, the place I'm at right now is confusing and lacking in form. "Any way the wind blows," sang Freddy Mercury. My ideas of who I am are constantly shifting and changing shape. The problem is that circumstances will always change, so circumstance-based self-conceptions will continue to leave me feeling like I've lived the lives of a hundred personalities, not one of them my own.
I do still cling to the vague belief that I was made for more than this. No one can survive a dozen or more narrowly-escaped-death incidents and suicide attempts, and not think that there must be a reason: a greater purpose to yet serve. Why would I be so fortunate? Why have I been spared? What am I still doing here?
I'm making the effort to keep walking toward God, toward whatever His purpose for me, toward whatever person He has intended me to be. It's long, it's hard, it's painful; and most days, I hate it. But I'm still doing it. I don't know anything else.
I'm not sure whether I'm attempting to reinvent myself or discover myself. Either way, the place I'm at right now is confusing and lacking in form. "Any way the wind blows," sang Freddy Mercury. My ideas of who I am are constantly shifting and changing shape. The problem is that circumstances will always change, so circumstance-based self-conceptions will continue to leave me feeling like I've lived the lives of a hundred personalities, not one of them my own.
I do still cling to the vague belief that I was made for more than this. No one can survive a dozen or more narrowly-escaped-death incidents and suicide attempts, and not think that there must be a reason: a greater purpose to yet serve. Why would I be so fortunate? Why have I been spared? What am I still doing here?
I'm making the effort to keep walking toward God, toward whatever His purpose for me, toward whatever person He has intended me to be. It's long, it's hard, it's painful; and most days, I hate it. But I'm still doing it. I don't know anything else.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
And From the Depths, They Came
I remember the day. A girl in my regular chatroom said that she had a journal online. I had never heard of such a thing. She convinced me to sign up for a journal of my own. Almost immediately after creating my account and posting my first entry, I received comments and words of welcome from complete strangers. I was hooked.
Over the next few years, I grew an expansive base of readers, fans, and friends through blogging communities and personal websites. I reached 60,000 hits a month. My life revolved around my perceived pseudo-fame in a virtual reality. Nothing was off-limits. I exposed myself and provoked others, I ranted and raved, I destroyed all conception that I could hold anything sacred. The only thing sacred was brutal transparency. I had pledged my allegiance to full disclosure, no matter who got hurt along the way.
Over the next few years, I grew an expansive base of readers, fans, and friends through blogging communities and personal websites. I reached 60,000 hits a month. My life revolved around my perceived pseudo-fame in a virtual reality. Nothing was off-limits. I exposed myself and provoked others, I ranted and raved, I destroyed all conception that I could hold anything sacred. The only thing sacred was brutal transparency. I had pledged my allegiance to full disclosure, no matter who got hurt along the way.
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