Realising one’s limitations is about the most depressing stage of self-discovery that is possible. I have searched long and hard, tried to the utmost of my abilities to find who I am, and what I want to do. My entire life has been shrouded in delusion, masks worn and games played to amuse myself. As I had only myself as company, this was satisfactory. Now, as I am gradually maturing and broadening my horizons, there is no place for such foolishness. But, my idealistic self still remains; expectations soaring to the sky with regard to life, love, work, education, leisure, mental health, how my body should look and my personal character. Sometimes, it is just one dizzying dream after another. However, the greater the expectation, then the greater the fall. I find this out on a daily basis. What makes a person so idealistic? Desperately trying to fulfill dreams, as wild as they may be, even conspiring for future ways to achieve the ideal.
Whilst attempting to achieve the ideal, I struggle to exactly define the meaning and significance of the ideal (twisted ideals of perfection in every area) and am left confused and rambling. This has had curious effects on my life. I spent most of my life, and an alarmingly large amount presently, living within my head. It is a sanctuary, a form of escapism. But be warned, it can be dangerous. Quite often I do not wish to be in the waking world, and in many a case have attempted a quick exit. I have been told that setting small achievable goals on a daily basis is a way to remedy this. This was difficult, owing to my unending fear of failure. I have never accomplished anything in my life worth noting, as I would usually say and think, despite recent accomplishments in my life: gaining a qualification, overcoming anorexia and getting married.
There was a time when I fooled myself into believing I was accomplishing on a daily basis, but the self harm and deprivation I forced myself through nearly ended me. This affects present decisions I must make. It leaves me wrapped in confusion. Sometimes my head and heart, as it were, are in fierce conflict. This deepens the confusion and creates a vicious cycle of repetitiveness. Life had always felt like a volley: an unending pattern of sickness and vague health, melancholy and mania, subservience and sexual deviance. Does this present past dangers? Of course it does. Am I to forever travel in this match, never bearing from my path? Never-ending repetition and déjà vu. I feel I have been here before. Did I walk this road before? Is this the same road, paved with gold, ransacked from the souls of those past? Am I at fault? Do I enjoy playing the game? The mind is always playing games, games that I perversely gain joy from. Do I rejoice in illness and danger? Dreams of stability seem to be pipe dreams when set against reality. At times I endeavour to rid myself of reality. Play the game; life is the theatre. You are a star, and then you are the fool in an oak costume. Do I start my tale at the beginning middle or unforeseen end? The end I predict. A prediction based on illusions of grandeur, a sculpted frame and full (“normal”) health (physical and psychological). Blinded by ideals I may fail to see the truth. Truth is the concept I must embrace and discover, yet struggle with. So, I never write the names, and keep as far from reality as is possible. It may all be a dream, a play of my sub conscious, no one is named – not even I. I may cease to exist. It all comes down to truth, truth I must uncover, discover and live.
Why do we do the things we do? Why do we play these games? I only want peace and happiness for my circle, but it is a lot harder to attain than I’d ever care, or dare, to admit. I refuse to see the difficulties. I want to be naive, click my fingers, and achieve instant bliss. Life never plays out the way you envisaged. You may have written the script, but all the actors will all ad-lib. Perhaps I am looking for solutions in all the wrong places. I need to be directed and guided. I yearn for the support and approval of others. And, I realise, that I do not even know what my ideals really and truly are.