Failure

I began this summer as a bright eyed optimist, having so many plans, so many goals, so much to do! Alas procrastination kicked in, followed by degradation brought on by my failures both physically and emotionally. Why is it that it is so easy for us to make these goals, have these plans, and aspirations if we know without a shadow of a doubt that we'll only fail? Why are we so enthralled by the idea of becoming better, but never actually following through? Is it just the idea of making something of yourself that gives your ego that extra boost to get you through whatever slump you're in? Or is it simply our nature to want to be better, promise ourselves to be better, and by doing so enable ourselves to put it off with idiotic excuses? "I want to get in shape, but school and work has just taken too much; it's too hot; I don't feel good." "I want to be a better student, but my teacher is an idiot and doesn't know what they're talking about; I have better things to do than stupid homework; oh I'll just do it tomorrow."

The worst part about the whole thing is how easy it is for us to say one thing and do nothing. In everything. Whether it is life, love, or anything in between. Not only that, but then it hits you and you actually realize that you're wasting your life. You're not doing what you want to do; you're avoiding situations that might actually make you a better person. That hurts. Waking up every day knowing that you're just another worker bee with hollow goals and moronic dreams. Is it possible to be too ambitious, but without the talent to make anything of those ambitions? For me this idea has struck home, hard, over the past few weeks. Although I'm doing well in my English class, I am once again confronted by my pure lack of math abilities. Perhaps I just have a mental block when it comes to math; psychologically it's proven that if you believe something long enough it becomes your reality, but do I want to put it off as easily as that? Am I really so controlled by my unconscious that I am mentally and physically at a standstill? I go off on how life isn't fair and how I hate this or that, but what am I really doing with my life? Nothing. At least that's how it feels to me. I have all these dreams, I have all these needs of being amazing, of doing something important, to be recognized, but yet I refuse to put any effort into my own life. How is it that someone can be so ambitious yet so unmotivated? It just doesn't work. The whole situations leads to failure and disappointment, common themes in my life, and yet, even with this knowledge I still do nothing. I don't pursue my dreams, I don't work at my classes, I don't try and better myself mentally much less physically, and top of that I'm a bitter wreck. I criticize people better than me, I'm surrounded by them. All of my friends are talented, smart, and actually making something of themselves. This should motivate me, this should make me strive to better myself, but I'm so bitter and jealous I find myself thinking it's not worth it. Why should I pursue this or that when my friends can all do it far better than I can? But this isn't a healthy way of thinking, I know that, I realize it, but how do I stop it?

I say old euphemism "acceptance is the first step to recovery" more often than not in an ironic almost sarcastic sort of way, but is it true? It may be relative, works for some people, but not for everyone perhaps. I find that knowing I'm a failure and even accepting it doesn't do jack for me. In fact, more often than not it just depresses me and forces me to seek comfort in another or in one of my books. I then forget my failures for hours, days, maybe a week, but sooner or later it hits me again and I'm just as depressed and bitter as I ever. Am I just masochistic? Do I need to cause myself heartache and pain in order to live? Maybe I'm just punishing myself for not doing what I hope to do. For not being the person I know I could be. I don't commit to the philosophical ideal of determinism. I do not believe that we're set for life the minute we're born, that some so called "God" has a plan for each and every one of us, I believe that if you work for it you can do anything you want. It is somewhat naive here in America where the rich can do whatever they want regardless of talent, skill, or work. But I really do believe that you can be whoever you want to be if you put your mind to it. So what do I want to be? I don't even know. I'm currently aiming for medical school for Psychiatry, but who am I kidding? Just like my idiotic ideas of being an astrophysicist that I stuck to throughout high school, I don't believe I have the talent to become the kind of psychiatrist I want to be. Perhaps I need to learn to settle on being mediocre, but in a country that spouts free will and stories of rags to riches how can anyone honestly be happy just being? I want to be something, I want to be someone.

Even still I know that I am not. I will never live up to the goals I have set for myself. I will never be a Martin Luther King Jr., a John F. Kennedy, a Ghandi, or even looking at it the other way a Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, or any other hero or villain throughout history. Why am I so obsessed with being a one in a million, why do I have to be special in anyway? Why can't I just accept and be happy with who I am? I have my talents, sort of, I read a lot and have an amazing comprehension, I mean there are millions of people in the world that don't even know how to read. That should be something I can be proud of, yet I can't. It's not good enough. I'm not good enough. The saying "The grass is always greener on the other side" is so god damn true, and it's awful. I can juggle, I can navigate a computer and other such technology some people aren't comfortable with, I have great friends, an absolutely amazing girlfriend, but yet I want more. I want to be acknowledged for something. All of my "talents" are nothing more than slightly above average, all of my friends can rape me at juggling, I know several people that are better readers than I am, my writing is ghastly compared to my friends, and every other thing I might pride myself on I know someone who does it that much better than me. Even if I were to be better than my friends at something, anything, there is going to be someone out there who's even better at it than I am. Whether it is due to talent or unimaginable devotion it doesn't matter, they're out there. Sure I can become a psychiatrist, but I'll never be a Freud. I can become a physicist, but never an Einstein. A politician even, but never a JFK. Hell even my half assed attempts at being a radical are failures when it comes right down to it, I mean really, picketing for prairie dogs? No wonder no one gave a shit. All of my passions, chess, writing, juggling, reading, psychology, all of them are going to be utter disappointments because of my inability to settle for what I have. It's not fair. It just isn't! Why are some people gifted with the ability to be amazing authors or world class chess players? Why are some people just naturally better than others at things, but I'm not naturally good at ANYTHING. You would think that with almost 7 billion people on this earth that I would have a chance to be decent at something. I would be able to handle decent at something, to have a talent for something. But there isn't one thing in this world that I'm even remotely talented at. I have to work at everything, I have to work at my job to make the a living when people are born into shitloads of money; I have to work at school when plenty of people just coast through without a care and still pull all A's; I have to work at everything I do and even still I come up short of the average. I'm subpar on everything: math, English, writing, chess, athletics, even my god damn people skills suck. I alienate my friends, push away my family, and fight with my girlfriend all for ridiculous reasons. Just because I suck at life doesn't mean I should take it out on everyone else who'd actually succeeding, but I'm jealous. It's not fair, none of it.

So I sit here and instead of trying to do something with myself, anything at all, I complain. Just like I complain about everything else. Granted my complaints about religion, politics, and utter stupidity I think are actually justified, this is just plain and simple venting. I apologize to those that might actually read this, though they are few. I make myself out to be a strong willed, morally sound person in my posts, and if I let you down then I did. It's no big deal; I disappoint everyone I care about and most of all myself. Still I know I won't do anything, I won't actually pursue my random interests, but what does it matter? Once I become decent at whatever it is I get into in the future, I'll just find someone out there that's far superior than I am. Until I become something I don't know how to cope with myself. Maybe that's the reason I read so much, I'm living vicariously through the characters, and somewhat through the author. While I read the world disappears and I'm actually someone, I'm actually doing something with my life. I strongly believe that if I hadn't met Kimberley I would be a complete and utter recluse at this point. I more than likely would have dropped out, spent all my money on books, food, and other such material things, but luckily I found her. And amazingly she loves me as I love her! She's the most important thing in my life and I can't imagine a world without her at this point. When I read I may lose myself, but she's always the lighthouse guiding me home when I'm lost in the fog of my mind. She pulls me out of my slumps, makes me believe in myself, and I do believe that someday, with her help, I will become something. I no doubt will have to settle, because even statistically those one of a kind people are the rarest of rare: products of their time, their environment, their genes, and their genius. Slowly I'm trying to be a better person, I haven't missed one class this summer, I plan on doing the same this coming fall, and hopefully even with my poor math skills I will pull my ass outta this funk and pass, not only that understand. For now, thank you for bearing with me. I have no reason to post this, I should probably put it in my journal where only she and I can read, but I am an attention whore, and although I have no doubt some people will be mean about it. Whatever. I can handle a lot of criticism; I do actually, from everyone for everything, and myself. And honestly no matter what anyone thinks or says it's not as bad as my own inner voice.