On dark days, I think, I love the world so damn much that I end up hating it, and myself in the process. The wheels spin uncontrollably in my head and all perspective becomes warped. I loose my sense of purpose, my motivation. I frustrate myself by focussing on the most mundane of details too. All I see is the impossibility of what I selfishly want the world to be.
In these times, I wish for simple comfort. I long for a sign that everything is going to be OK. That there is a reason for all this, a sense of logic, a specific direction or plan that was laid out and that I can follow. Anything that would make sense on every scale. From the infinitely small and intimate to the infinitely large and universal.
And then I hate myself for not being able to figure it out and wonder wether I deserve to exist if I can’t even stand on my own. Are we destined to be needy for all of eternity? Will we never grow to independence? Will we never love and care for each other out of choice rather than obligation? Should I be satisfied with simple joys and stop even trying to understand the big picture?
Traveling the space between innocence and enlightenment is a hellish affair.