This will be an awkward blog. Hopefully more honest than awkward.

I really don’t know where my constant urge to die comes from. I joke about it with my friends all the time, so much so that it just sounds like I’m not serious about it. But every time I make a joke about it, I actually truly consider it for a brief second, and it feels so amazing and liberating. And then I come crashing back to reality, because I’d never actually do it, no matter how good I think it feels.

I wonder a lot what people will say about me if I died right this second. I hope that 2 things stand out.

  • I want to see what’s in your heart.

At some point I started looking for something more in people. And I feel like I found it. I think it’s because I want to judge others on the same terms I judge myself, and that is where my heart lies.

I think that everyone is an optimist. Everyone wants good things to happen to them, and hopes that good things happen to them, and wishes that they will find positive traits - happiness, friendship, love, caring, strength - in life. Good things may not happen, or good things may not happen often, but we wish they would.

So it’s no surprise that I hate mean people. But more than that, I think that the meanness is reflective of the soul. I think that everyone would like to be the ideal person - calm, collected, well-organized, got-their-shit-together. But without a lot of effort, one can diverge from the ideal persona very easily. Diverging makes us rude or mean, or think rude or mean thoughts, and shows the tears in our soul. When I see meanness, my gut reaction is hate, but my hope is that the meanness is reflective of the tears in the soul of an optimist.

When I look at people I care about, I want to see that they are good people. We all have flaws, but so long as our hearts are in the right place, I can appreciate and like the person. I love hearing about wonderful new people, because all I know about them is their heart.

So long as I know the heart is in the right place, or the effort is there to make it right, I can care about you.

  • I want to care.

A few years ago, I got really mad at two of my best friends and disappeared from their lives. It was easy, we went to different universities in different cities. After a few months, I realized that my reason was stupid and I apologized. I’m friends now with both of them, one of them more strongly, and we talked about more friend stuff a while afterwards. I asked her why we were even friends, because we’re pretty dissimilar people. She told me that even though I had this face of being an arrogant independent asshole, she felt that deep inside I actually cared about everyone (our friends) much more than they could have imagined.

And I do.

I care too much about what people think. I care about what people do and say and think. I care today much more about what I say and what I think and what people will interpret it as and how people will react. I care about what my friends are going through and wish I could help. I care about what strangers are feeling and what they’re thinking of. I care as much as I can about as many things as I can.

Some say that caring too much is bad. I think so too. I put too much heart and worry into other people’s lives. I want things so much and care too much about the outcome. I invest too much energy into things that don’t really matter. I care about others more than I care about myself. Sometimes all I can offer is caring, and that honestly makes me just as sad. I couldn’t live with myself for not helping someone as much as I could, even if helping them hurts me so much more.

I think caring too much is bad, but it feels so much more right than not caring enough. I’d rather care more than just enough.

I think some people would say that this is enough. I don’t think so. I don’t want my life to end here. I don’t want my life to be summarized by my intangibles, my heart and my caring.

Every single failure we have is reflected in our soul. Every time we mess up, we put another cut in our soul. Over time, these cuts widen. Over time, these cuts heal. Sometimes, these cuts heal, and then break wide open once again, and heal all over again.

I don’t want my life to be full of failure. I don’t want my soul to be full of the scars of my losses, of my rejection and pain and sadness and surrender. I don’t want my legacy to be of the beauty I’ve seen, and nothingness I’ve accomplished.

But scars are the legacy of my successes. My ability to move beyond my failures and beyond the loss and rejection and pain and sadness and surrender. The scars represent my life, and every step I’ve taken to fight against the negativity and every step I’ve taken to bring me back to positivity, to being an optimist and idealist, to believing and having and fighting for good things again.

I don’t look forward to facing a lifetime of failure. But maybe every cut and every scar and every failure and every success will eventually carve me into someone I can be proud of, someone I can be content as, and someone who will one day embrace death and say, “thank you for this wonderful life, I wouldn’t have had it any other way”.

Sometimes I don’t have anything to believe in, or anything to look forward to. Sometimes it’s hard to convince myself that I’m on the right path to death. The world is so uncertain and unknown, it seems like every day is another fight to survive. I don’t look forward to every fight, but that’s okay. I look forward to what these fights will mean.


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