Stuck.

Hi guys. Looks like it’s time for the annual post. You know, when I first decided to blog, I had the intention to write more frequently. I have intention behind a lot of things. Motivation, however, I lack. I know that I could do something with these thoughts that float around in my head. I believe that my ideas could make a difference or impact someone or many people. It just seems that I can’t be mentally okay long enough to make any sort of dent in executing them. I can’t see myself as someone capable enough to become a healthy person.

This whole idea of becoming – of achieving my potential. What even is that? What does that mean? Some would say that we can be whatever we choose to be. I don’t necessarily agree with this. I think we were all born with who we are so clear, and then we muddy it up. We taint it. We learn that who we are isn’t what is accepted or desired. And I don’t mean these arbitrary things that we think we are…I mean, like, who we are at our deepest, most hidden and intimate cores. I feel tainted by my mistakes. I feel like no matter how hard I try to clean myself up, I always end up dirty again. I mean, if I look at it through a spiritual perspective, of course life is a lifelong cleaning up of oneself. I just wonder if I’ll ever be okay enough, for a long enough period of time in between, for me to heal…and then I think to myself what is healing?

I’ve spent a good deal of my life living in this weird cycle of pseudo healing. I do the things. I try to feel better. But it always feels like I’m just running in a huge, fake circle. I screw up. I try to talk gently to myself instead of calling myself a myriad of horrible things. I feel like I’m not enough, or disgusting, or worthless. I try to look at myself as I would my sisters or my friends. But somehow I always come up short in my mind. It’s this whole concept of not enough. I’m not completely ugly, but I’m not someone who would capture someone’s eye. I’m not stupid but I’m not super smart. I can sing and write music but not enough to make something from it. I always have this notion that if I could just reach out a tiny bit more, I could reach the thing I’ve been chasing. What am I chasing, exactly? What do I want? I DON’T KNOW. I just feel rather miserable most of the time. Nothing makes me feel good for long enough. Nothing lasts. Everything fades. There is beauty in that – that everything fades. It makes the fleeting so much more meaningful. Sorrow, however, quickly follows. Is this life just an oscillation of these concepts? Joy and sorrow? I believe that there is more for us. I believe in God and heaven and love and beauty and joy. I guess I just still can’t understand where I fit in all of it. I think that’s what is causing me stress. I don’t know what the point of me is. I can’t figure out why I’m here or why I would have been breathed into existence.

I don’t have a peaceful bookend to this one. Though I have hope.