something anywhere near their caliber

subject: love, reputation, depression
style: honest
source: Gilgamesh, Herbert Mason, p. 36

"Enkidu was alone with sights he saw brought on by pain and fear, as one in deep despair may lie beside his love who sleeps and seems so unafraid, absorbing in himself the phantoms that she cannot see ..."

Love is a curious thing. I know it isn't good for me. I know from years of experience on both sides, that overall I am happier, more self-confident, more clear-headed and reasonable, more productive, and more successful in my endeavours when I am alone than when I expend my efforts on other people. And yet I still subconsciously strive to have someone significantly in my life. Why do I do this ? Is it because of my raging hormones ? Possibly. Is it because I feel the societal stigmata resulting from my state of unaccompaniment, and know that I will not be fully accepted until I comply with the standards that we blindly expect of everyone ? Could be. But I like to think it is something more.

Let me tell you about myself. I am an atheist, a transcendentalist, a skeptic, a writer, a rebel, a social outcast -- all the things nobody ever wanted me to be. I am an independently-minded person, and above all I love solitude. I am no good at interacting with other people, I have no outstanding interest in doing so, and I never have. I prefer to keep to myself and watch you and study all the odd things you do and wonder how we got this way.

With all this in mind, I still enjoy from time to time a little attention. I like to sit down and talk with someone who respects me, to have some decent conversation about nothing in particular. I like to hit on someone every now and again; it keeps me going. And I like response. If I try to talk to her and she doesn't care, I feel as if I've done something wrong, and I become self-conscious and paranoid and wonder where I've gone awry. I suppose all these things are really inherently human, and yet I wonder why someone like me must still succumb to them.

I suffer with self-image and lack of confidence and concern for the decisions I've made, all the things I wish I had done, and the many things I will wish I had done several years into the future. I want so badly to be so much like certain other people, and I feel I will never be able to accomplish something anywhere near their caliber. I worry that I really have no talent at all, that I enjoy my works simply because I wrote them, and the fact that anyone else might enjoy them is in fact an illusion. Deep down, I really want to be a music major -- I would love that more than anything else -- but I don't think I have gathered enough talent in the years that have already passed to be able to do anything pleasant with it.

On top of all these fears, all this doubt and uncertainty, I think it makes me feel a little more alive, and life a little more worth living, when I am appreciated by an outside source. I think this is in essence the reason I still try to fit in. I still confuse even myself, though, in that my desired results vary so greatly based on the circumstances. Take a simple walk across campus, for instance. Sometimes when I do so, I think to myself "I hope I will see someone I know so that I will not be so alone," and sometimes I think "I hope I don't see anyone I know, because I really don't feel like having to deal with other people." This mindset often switches several times a day. From this, I can see why you wouldn't want to stop and take the time to talk to me, because obviously it is ridiculously unclear that (or when) I want you to. (And similarly, when I hit on you, you don't know if responding positively would only boost my ego or go further by making me dwell and think too much of the scenario.) So what should you do ? Well, although I despise the whole idea of small talk -- its intentions, its purposes, and its applications -- I suppose the most effective decision would be to try to force me to talk to you and see what comes of it.

But back to love (and I promise all these things are ultimately related). The whole idea of spending your life with one person is mediocre, juvenile, and outdated. And why, after all it has done to me, do I still (even when I have better things to do) go out of my way to pursue the potential for something akin to love ? Because I know that life sucks and consists of very little which will keep you occupied long enough to help you overcome the realization that nothing you do really matters in the end. And I know that, even with all the many problems I have, I am still on the higher end of the spectrum when you look at people's intellect, talent, dedication, and reason -- which is somewhat depressing. I know that life's events are boring and uneventful, and that what proceeds each day, in comparison to the last or the next, is little more than a different reaction to the same already-existent outside stimuli. I know that, when it comes down to it, all you can really do to make yourself feel happy is temporarily bandage your longest-lasting and most terrifying wound: the knowledge that you were born to die. I see that you live and you die, and nothing exciting happens in between; and so I conclude that there must be some missing piece I am yet failing to experience. And this I can refer to only as love. Without love, life is quite simply pointless. The only thing that gives your life purpose is the ability to convince yourself that you have attained something higher in value and in power than the very hands of Death himself, and love is the only drug I have witnessed with enough natural relaxant contained within to be capable of such a feat.

You don't make any sense either. Nothing does. What you see as truth is a direct cross-product of your daydreams and your fear of the unanswerable.

(I had to skip my Poli Sci reading to write this. But when inspiration calls, how can you argue ? And I actually don't feel bad about it in the slightest, because all these words I can see and I can feel and I can be proud of. What would I glean from reading someone else's observations that is more valuable than making original thought-clouds of my own ? Here I have learned something new about myself, and doubtless so have you. The effort I have expended toward this has come from my brain, rather than my eyes -- and the former feels no strain afterward. And alas, this has kept me wide awake. Before I started, when I was trying to read, I literally could not keep my eyes open. Switching my synapses from a passive to an active process has kept me from drifting. I see this as wholeheartedly healthy, and appreciably positive.)

[Posted two hours after midnight.]