I have been trying to convince myself that there's nothing wrong with being alone, that I am capable of living a rich, fulfilling life on my own, without having to rely on anyone else.
Now, of course, there is something that rings hollow to that. My thoughts on the matter otherwise gel together. But there is a conspicuous, vacuous space embedded within, an air bubble in the tubing.
Human beings are, for better or for worse, social beings. We need to be around other people. At the same time, we inevitably need to express our individuality. And I am convinced we cannot survive at either extreme. The whole of human life is the balance between self and other, a continual, vital dialectic.
So, for now, there is something missing.
I am approaching the Godelian no-man's land of my theory for contentment.
But I've got no recourse but to pretend it's not there. Selective amnesia. The last refuge of the madman and the scoundrel. I hope there is such a thing as karma, because at times like these, I feel like life owes me some payback.
Heh. Wishful thinking.
But I have tarried here too long, in this land of No Chance. As what she says digs deeper into my heart, all these assertions that I'm a great guy, that I'm a lot of the things she wishes she could find, that I would be a great catch, as what she says inches closer to the vital regions of my soul like a bullet, or a fat embolus, making me wish impossible things, making me aspire to delusions, what she says is further proof that I am screwed, that I am trapped in this box, and that anything I try to change the situation will only dig me a bigger hole to wallow in.
Catch-22. If you're crazy, then I can't let you do this to yourself. I can't let you blow yourself up again. But then, if you were really crazy, you wouldn't think twice about self-destruction. You'd just jump in and say "Geronimo!" The fact that you don't want to destroy yourself proves you're not crazy, so I have to make you destroy yourself. Oh yes. Much more bizarre and insane than "Damned if you do, damned if you don't." This is Godel in literary form.
I could take the easy way out and say that my life sucks.
But it would be an oversimplification of what is, despite all my friends' attempts to downplay it, a hopelessly complex situation.
My brain is on fire.
How do you keep hoping when there is clearly no hope? How do you stop hoping when a million opportunities lie in your path, just ready for the taking?
Why can I never set my heart on a possible thing?
Simultaneously, what I say will be true, and it will be false. (More Godel for ya.) None of this really matters. On one hand, it's a rationalization to account for all my failings. But on the other, it is objectively true. Some day, I will forget any of this ever happened, and someday, no one will know or care.
I will not let this get to me. But it's there. It has always been there.
Hello, darkness, my old friend. I've come to talk to you again....