The truth of our existence is that we’re all blessed and cursed with the drive to move forward. Live the next day.
Everything changes. And nothing changes. People die. More are born. And in between, we exist. I never wanted to do more than that. Just exist.
As I lay in bed last night, I thought about how many people have tried to help me along the way, have helped me, a few of who are no longer alive. Way more people have tried to help me, Jon, than have harmed me. The harm just seems to leave the deeper mark. Anyway, I’ve always felt such guilt that others were wasting their lives on me, that I was a waste, that I was unworthy. But last night, I didn’t feel that guilt, or that I was a waste. I didn’t necessarily feel worthiness, but I did feel a kind of responsibility, I guess. At least a desire to try and not let you all down. And then I felt the smallest flicker of not wanting to let myself down, you know? Because somewhere in all this, I’ve managed at times to fight for myself for some reason, to fight for my life for some reason. And I survived for some reason. And here I am, still, for some reason. And me not knowing that reason doesn’t diminish it or invalidate it or disprove its existence.