Somewhere Over The Rainbow

After a somewhat cliche name related to a horrible song from an outdated musical that I never understood, I write.

I suppose in most peoples lives they have doubt. Most people question everything they are repeatedly. In modern society, as pointed out by a professional colleague from the University of London, people pop pills. But that's not what this is about. This is about the story of me. About how I hate blogging only because I inevitably post something so disdainfully personal and selfish and expect someone to come out of the woodwork with an answer and say, "Look! Hark! For this is how to live!" and attach a lengthy list of a steps towards living the perfect life. This is about how I've come to find that everything I believed in is contradictory to everything I've done.

I am a dreamer. I have always tried to stand for good and justice and love. I have tried to make the lives of those around me filled with happiness, even at my own expense. And after I had gotten excited with my own wonderfully superior ideals, I ran with them and spread them everywhere in the world.

Now it is time for Ivan the Destroyer to turn and look. From horseback he tilts his body and turns his head until the destruction comes into focus. First through his peripheral vision and then into the cones of his cornea. What a horrible aspect I have lent the world. I ran with my ideals and passed every waypoint where I might have been turned and corrected, where my damage could be undone. I ran and made all the choices opposite my ideals simply because it was "The thought of the ideals that counted" and not the practice. I have made every excuse in the book. Well, the ones that could actually get me out of the things I wanted out of. And here I am, without purpose now. Suddenly my dreams and my goals fall short because I have opposed them for so long. I lie, a living fossil clone of de Beauvoir's nihilist, constantly destroying the projects I create in order to further hate the world of men.

I have cried out against God and against the system. I have cried out against environmental circumstances. I have cried out against the very existence of man and his futility. I have never once blamed myself, truly, for all the misdeeds in the world. There are no excuses, according to Sartre. I have allowed the world of men to crumble because I have allowed my own world of ethics and morals to crumble first. With the denial of my own responsibility I have wrought pain and heartache on those I love. Or rather, those who love me.

So in conclusion, though it be ill placed and outside of your reach, I apologize most of all to you (insert foggy blur over the name here, oh Censoring committee of anonymity). I have made the excuses to myself and to my superiors, but yours is the most vile betrayal. I love with all my heart, but I have let you down. I have watched you drink yourself into a bathroom stall because of me. I have watched you follow other pursuits. I have listened to you cry from seventy miles away and taken no action towards closing that gap. I have broken your heart and your mind and destroyed the innocence you had. Your eyes hold only pain and contempt for me. Yours and the myriad of others who I have tricked into believing that I could change. Mine is a sickness of the mind.

"And then it dawned on him that all his ramblings served but one purpose: to make excuse. So he reluctantly admitted to his hypocrisy with a simple, 'Nevermind'" - From the works of Thomas the Lost and Hungover