Another Month Gone By

Whatever happened to me writing in here?  I certainly don’t know.  Maybe I’ve gotten too good for my diary.  No.  That’s not it.  I still visit here all the time, I just don’t feel like there’s anything to write about.  Funny.  You only feel like writing when things are going wrong…not now for me…I’m just forcing myself to write right now…because things are going well.

So then what is it we’re searching for in writing here?  Is it sympathy?  Is it a release?  A lot of the diaries I read don’t seem to be releasing much even though they’re trying.  I wish it was more of a release…but I don’t think it’s much.  I think ultimately it’s a validation.  For those who write diaries, real diaries, I think they’re writing because they want to put into words the things they find important that the world seems not to care about at all.  Here, at this online cite, this is an extension of that feeling.  It’s a testament to the world, a standing-up and shouting of…HERE I AM!!  I suffer, I love, I smile, I cry….look at me world….someone look at me.

And this is not a bad thing.  There are those who are attention-mongers, or those who feel their lives are the only ones worth anything.  That is not what these people here are…some of them.  They just want someone to talk to them, someone to listen to them….and someone to respond to them in a way that reminds them that they do exist.  It’s funny how quickly we forget what we’re fighting for and believe that we’ve been defeated, not knowing that everything we want is happening in a way we don’t see.  I bet we all as diary-writers would be surprised how many people read these…how many people who we might have thought never do anymore….people who just don’t know what to say…but who are checking up on us anyway…making sure we’re all right.  That’s kind of what I do. 

Here in this diary I write my thoughts, feelings, beliefs, and values…but I don’t believe in the end that I’m anymore right than anyone else.  I wish more people felt like I did, but they way they feel is just as valid, whether they love me or want to shoot me.  We are complex beings who respond both to reason and irrationality…who are moved by logic at times and in the exact same circumstances on another day are moved by emotion…or even by whim.  So I don’t note people much.  I don’t because I don’t know if I have anything to say to them.  This is not simply a questioning of the value of my words…most people I know do value them and I’m sure would be comforted by a note.  I feel, personally and selfishly, that I don’t want to say anything to them, because I, that’s I, don’t think I have anything worthy of telling them. 

In my world, as in most people’s, I am a paradox.  I am the greatest person as well as the least.  I think I’ve come to understand this and deal with it maturely, while I think this is what is lacking from other people’s lives.  Even the realization of this concept.  Not that I’m insulting them.  We really don’t examine ourselves in certain ways…I don’t know.  Anyway, we have to deal with the fact that we are the most valuable person we know, and we also hate ourselves the most because we’re the only person we can understand.  This understanding, mostly complete understanding, makes us hate ourselves because we’re always unconsciously willing to give others the benefit of the doubt.  We know ourselves too well. 

I’m rambling and losing my train of thought.  I just wanted to say that we must come to grips with the fact that we love ourselves because we know ourselves, and we hate ourselves because the rest of the world can neither understand us or understand when we try to explain.  It’s a strange world we live in.  If you read this, know that I probably read your diary too if I ever have.  I just don’t know if there’s anything to say.