Tonight, I could write the saddest blog. I'm feeling alone and uncared for. I see my life as one long string of meaningless relationships with self-centered people who couldn't care less about who I am. They don't even know me. And I don't suppose they want to because it can't be that hard.
I don't want to come off sounding all poor me-ish. I've wasted a lot of time in my life waiting for a drop of pity. And worse yet, I've watched at least one person I care about waste their life on it. I dont want to be that/this way. But sometimes I'm so unhappy.
Sometimes I imagine people in churches as the happiest people. All packed in together, singing hallelujah. It must feel nice to be part of a hallelujah. It must feel nice to believe that you've been set apart - not individually, but as a group. It must be nice to think, "What is man that Thou art mindful of him?" and be sure that He is mindful of you. I've always wanted to be part of a hallelujah. And it just isn't in me to be.
Fyodor Dostoevsky once wrote: "So long as man remains free he strives for nothing so incessantly and so painfully as to find something to worship...[W]hat is essential is that all may be together in it. The craving for community worship is the chief misery of...all humanity. For the sake of common worship they've slain each other with the sword."
I could never slay anyone, but I feel the misery sometimes. It's hard when you feel self-conscious so much as clapping at a football game. I've always felt that the key to intelligence was a certain alienation. I blame/credit my parents for my alienation. They raised me oddly, and I've always felt different. Sometimes I'm glad because I feel it gives me as an advantage as an observer. And sometimes I feel angry that I have no idea how to act or feel. Tonight, it makes me feel lonely.
What good is intelligence if it only makes you feel miserable? And it does make you miserable. The Preacher once wrote: "And I set my heart to know wisdom and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also is grasping for the wind. For in much wisdom is much grief, And he who increases knowledge increases sorrow."
Tonight, if I could vomit up every piece of that damn apple we ate in the garden, I would. Maybe it would make me less than human. Maybe that would be okay.
Are there answers which don't lead to larger questions? Is it possible to stop asking? Is it wrong to want to?
posted by Sarie @
1:15 AM
>Comments: 0
