Last year my friend told me that my English teacher had told them that I was “woke.” It wasn’t really something I had ever thought of myself ironically, but once it was mentioned I realized that it did feel like other people were not as conscious as I was. As if they lived in a world completely separate from my own. I chalked it up to only being able to live life as the person you were born as, some sort of main character syndrome, but I’ve come to learn that this isn’t the case. Not because of an astounding amount of “wokeness” on my part, but my observations of other people who are as conscious as I am and live their lives just as deliberately. I’ve learned through conversations that some people genuinely do not think the same things and the same ways that I do. Certainly it seems that I think things through more thoroughly than they do, but this doesn’t necessarily mean that my thinking is right or indeed even better than what they do. Shakespeare has demonstrated and constantly reiterated that excessive thought mellows action. I blame my constant overthinking for my lack of initiative. After a certain incident I decided to repress all my thinking to prevent pain. I thought that if I could just stop thinking it wouldn’t hurt so much, and I was right. It didn’t hurt me, but it did hinder me from doing anything. Living life without thinking is mindless. It’s monotonous and boring and devoid of meaning or feeling. That’s what I wanted at the time. It was a way to get away from everything; however, now that some time has passed I’ve begun to think again. I guess that must be evident from this post. My personality and my identity is completely reliant upon my ability to analyze and examine situations and people. Without my ability to think, I am not a useful human being and lack and reason for existence. I provide nothing. There’s no reason to choose me over anyone else if I can’t do the one thing that most other people can’t. It’s something that I’ve developed and it would be a shame to toss it all away for something that was out of my control. So I’m back to thinking. I’m back to feeling all the hurt and emptiness that it brings with it. And I’m accepting what happened to me as some cruel twist of fate instead of something I messed up. Even accepting that hurts because it means that I am once again seemingly at the mercy of some cosmic force that revels in my unhappiness, but i have no choice. The pursuit of happiness is laced with tears and shattered dreams, but the goal at the end is too enticing to pass up. Contentment.

“I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.”
-Anne Frank

Philosophers and thinkers from all places and across all age have thought about humanity’s true nature. Are people inherently good or evil? But to answer that, we must first answer what it means to be good or evil.

Ultimately, the distinction between good and evil is defined by the society we’ve created and the social contract that we live by. Being kind is a behavior of good people, but it doesn’t really serve any distinct purpose for ourselves or our survival. Most of the time, the people who do good are the ones who are hurt the most. They give themselves up for the benefit of others who take all that they can and aren’t obligated to give anything back. People say that being good is it’s own reward and while the satisfaction of doing good deeds does exist, the pain exists as well. However, we as a society and a culture have chosen to value kindness because in the big picture it helps us more. If we value kindness and goodness then it increases the odds that when we are in need someone will be kind and good to us. And when we are good to someone else, we are recognized for it. Evil too, or at least its strict definition, is also dependant upon society’s rules and our interpretations of it. Take murder. Murder is wrong. It is an evil act to wipe another life off the Earth, especially when we have no idea what lies beyond. Murder, regardless of culture, is recognized as an evil act when it serves no purpose. However, the wickedness of murder becomes blurred when it is viewed through different lenses. What about murder in self-defense? If one is in danger of losing one’s own life can they be pardoned for their inherently wicked crime of murder? What about a person who kills in defense of their country? Soldiers and veterans are honored for their time in their service regardless of the people they’ve killed. The lines between goodness and wickedness are now immensely difficult to place and become subjective. So we have established that good and evil, or at least our applicable interpretations of these absolutes, are founded upon our society and culture rather than something intrinsically held in humanity. Now we can answer the original question.

Is humanity inherently good or evil?

What follows is only my opinion on the subject. I believe that humanity as a whole must be inherently good. Why do I believe that? Because humanity grew to value altruism. And for a society to value and cherish goodness, that society and the members of it must have been good at some point without the reward that it currently has now. Furthermore, the people who valued kindness recognized goodness and decided to reward it without any need for reward and that act in and of itself is good. I don’t suppose that all people are good. I also don’t suppose that all people are bad. There is potential for both in every human being. Whether you are remember for goodness or wickedness comes down to the decisions you make in life and the impact you leave on this world and the people who knew you.

There’s a problem with people my age, or at least the people that I know that are my age. We aren’t happy. Not for long. There is an epidemic of depression rippling through the world. Some say that the increase in the cases of depression has more to do with an increase in diagnoses rather than an increase of actual cases. While this may be true, I do genuinely think that there has been an increase in depression and unhappiness, particularly concerning Millennials and Generation Z. Why do I think that? Because everyone around me is constantly on edge and desperate to make a name for themselves and live satisfying lives and make lifelong friends and have a successful career and be more and more and more and more. It’s exhausting. It’s exhausting but we all keep doing it because the moment you stop is when you get left behind. Hell, even if you keep going you’re still getting left behind by the person who goes out and founds their own company or gets private lessons or applies themself somehow. I’m just complaining at this point because I was and am not assertive nor proactive enough to find these opportunities. I am a sad, sad model of mediocrity. But putting aside the self pity, there is an idea that I have relating to unhappiness and comfort.

I believe that people have a homeostatic emotional point. In other words, when nothing is happening, there is a certain feeling that a person has. That feeling can lean positive or negative depending on the person and the point of life they are at. Personally, I feel that I’ve consciously changed my homeostatic emotional point multiple times in an effort to become happier, and more importantly, more comfortable with the idea of being happy. See, in our constant race to establish dominance and find success we stress and pressure ourselves into doing more. At the same time, we’re conscious of the fact that we should be happy and want to be happy. So, we do things that make us happy. We spend time with friends, go to concerts, make relationships. And it feels great to be happy, but something strange happens. Most people nowadays have homeostatic points that lean negative. They walk around, not necessarily unhappy, but they certainly feel discontent. It’s an obvious result of all the things that corner us in this competitive world. Because we keep doing more and it still seems like it’s never enough. So when we feel happy it’s unfamiliar and uncomfortable. I’ll say it again. People my age are uncomfortable being happy because we’re so used to being unhappy and stressed. That is the real tragedy and that is what I perceive as a reason for the increase in depression diagnoses in people my age. We don’t know what it’s like to relax anymore. Or rather, we relax, but then instantly feel guilty about it. We can’t take a break, we can’t take the time to be happy and in the moment because we’re constantly looking to the future and it’s all unknown and it’s scary.

I don’t know if this hypothesis that I have is true or not. There also isn’t a way I can really test for it. Ultimately, I have no idea what it’s like to be someone else and thus can never be sure what someone’s true homeostatic emotional point is, nor if that homeostatic point even exists. It may simply be something that applies only to some people. All I know is that when I start the next chapter of my life, I should seek to alter my homeostatic emotional point and grow comfortable with being happy. After all, I’ve spent so much time wallowing in sadness and tragedy. It’s certainly comfortable, but I don’t deserve it.

What is fear? It defines so many actions and decisions in our lives, but we never really pay attention to it. With the current coronavirus outbreak, it’s really easy to see fear in our lives now. It’s palpable. Entire stores cleaned out of their face masks, wipes, toilet paper, food. It’s insanity, especially for a virus that isn’t even as lethal as the common flu. What are we so afraid of? Well, the easiest answer is

Death

Of course we’re afraid of death. Self-preservation is coded into our DNA. A being that doesn’t have a sense of self-preservation built in will die out. Fear then is to keep us away from things that might kill us. Things that are dangerous. But we still fear things that pose no physical real danger to us. Fear of commitment, fear of returning exam grades, fear of a bunch of irrational things. Why? What danger do these things pose? Fear of grades? Perhaps a failing grade on this test could do a significant amount of damage to the path that you (or maybe not even you) have laid out for yourself in life. It certainly won’t cause you to die, but you’re at risk of loss. Fear of commitment then? Perhaps a loss of control? Humans are so loss averse. We can’t bear the idea of losing anything. It causes wrenching pain. We’re all so controlling. So to lose control is a double loss. Maybe that’s why so many people have that issue. But what are you in danger of? Surely in most cases it won’t be a life or death situation. Committing to a decision in fact is how you’re supposed to live life: deliberately and decisively. But we as humans think that we’re in danger of losing other things. We imagine other opportunities, other futures, other destinies that could vanish because we made a decision. A what-if. I’ll say it here and now.

Destiny doesn’t exist

There is no predetermination, no set soulmate, no path that’s set out for you in life. If you want it, you need to take it. Life’s full of variables and chance. It’s not even really chance, it’s a combination of so many variables that we might as well call it random because we will never be able to comprehend so much data. Which leads me to… fear of the unknown. We’re all so afraid of things that we aren’t sure about. What if what if what if what if what if??? Again, that fear of loss comes back, but now there’s a genuine concern for your safety. That unknown could really kill you. But what’s in that unknown could just as easily be incredibly good. There’s no guarantee that an unknown is bad in any way. People who take that risk and throw themselves into the unknown are the ones who can really say that they’ve made it. There’s no reward without risk. You won’t gain much if you hedge all your bets. So even though everything hurts and I’ve fallen victim to that risk over and over and over and over and over and over again. Even though sometimes it feels like God exists only to curse me. Even though my life feels like one hellish rollercoaster that beats and bruises me and is somehow always on an incline and never gives me any sort of reward, I’m all in.

I know you’re not supposed to start the New Year off with negativity. Some sort of bad luck, but as I think about all the mistakes I’ve made I’m finding it very difficult to remain optimistic and positive. I feel very small. Lost in a crowd of raucous people who live life like there’s nothing to it but happiness, but I know that they too have been through deep pain. How can this dichotomy exist? If every person has experienced what I have experienced and hurt the way that I’ve hurt how can it be that they have come out undamaged? And yet they also seem to have missed out on the wisdom and understanding that such experience is supposed to bring about. Or perhaps I’m being arrogant. I really don’t know anymore, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this year will be even worse than the last one was. I remember last year during New Years feeling empowered. Ready to take on the world. Now I feel a distinct lack of hope. A sort of emptiness where once there was ambition. I’ll let the waves carry me. Maybe something will happen.

It’s a New Year

Silence is all I hear

Bad omens abound

I’m lost in the sound

Silence

Surrounded by people when I look around

But I look inside and ruined innocence is all I’ve found

Young and wise or young and blind?

I don’t understand humankind

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything I want to remain. It’s comforting to know that I can’t be held accountable for anything I post on Snapchat because I know that it’ll be gone after anyone opens it. But there’s also something sad about it. Losing this piece of work that I poured my heart and soul into. I didn’t write for anyone else. The people who have the privilege of seeing my thought processes don’t have to read them. Some of them do, I know. Some of them don’t. That’s ok. They aren’t obligated to read anything. They didn’t sign up to be on the receiving end of my bullshit.

I didn’t know that I was intense until other people pointed it out. I didn’t know that I didn’t feel things the same way other people did. That hate and love and sadness and happiness weren’t supposed to engulf your entire being. Take over your mind and ruin your thoughts. Everything I think is tainted by my own feelings. All the logic in world is futile against my heart. So I’m killing it. I allowed my heart to guide me through life and all it’s led me to is misery. All the while my mind has always been telling me the right way to go through things. I ignored it like an idiot. No more. No more sobbing in the night. No more breaking down in public. I wonder if this is how I lose my humanity. But if this is what humanity is, I want no part of it.

People are horribly cruel. They hurt each other for no reason. They exploit the good things in their life and learn to love the bad things. I suppose this is some sort of coping, but what a horrible way to live. I’m honestly disgusted. Disgusted by the people around me. Disgusted by me. The fact that I constantly need to keep myself in check to prevent myself from falling into the same pitfalls of humanity is exhausting; however, it’s necessary. I refuse to allow myself to succumb to humanity.

I saw the world as a collection of absolutes. A world of informing opposites. A dichotomy. But the world really isn’t that simple. Good and evil don’t really exist because the world doesn’t care. Good and evil are standards that people made in order to serve the social contract we all subscribe to. It is perhaps the greatest example of conditioning ever conceived. Don’t twist my meaning, I’m not launching a tirade against goodness. I’ve wanted to be “good” for my entire life. But I’ve learned that my brand of “goodness” was no goodness at all. Or perhaps my brand of “goodness” wasn’t suitable for this world. Regardless, it doesn’t work. I couldn’t make my “goodness” pure. It was always corrupted by malice and selfishness and hate and a constant need for more. I needed to do more. Always do more. But the more I did, the less it mattered. It’s a basic economic theory. Supply and demand. The more supply I produce, the less people want it. The less people want me.

I’m giving up on goodness. There really is not point. It’s thankless work by definition, and I suppose thankless work isn’t for me. I’m sure I’ve made some sort of difference for the people I’ve touched and I should be thankful for that, but I’m actually spiteful and bitter. No one bothered to do it for me. I believe it be some product of all the things that compose me and the world. I used to believe in free will, but considering my history and understanding of the world, I’m beginning to believe in determinism.

Maybe calling it determinism is just a way of coping. Easier to deal with the world and all of its decisions — all of my decisions — if it’s out of my control. Nevertheless, I feel it is my destiny to impact this world somehow. I won’t pass away into this world quietly. Whatever God there is created me with this amount of intensity. Surely he intended for me to put it to use. I’ve always hated the status quo anyways. Something in this world needs to change. Maybe I was put here to carry it out.

I can never listen to the same songs again. There’s nothing wrong with them, there’s just something wrong with me. Every time I listen, I can hear your voice. The sharp intake of your breath, they fill the intervals where my sobbing halts. I can’t blame anyone else for this. I suffer the consequences of my actions, it’s the right thing to do. The decent thing to do. What no one tells you is that it isn’t a sharp burst of pain. It’s a slow agonizing poison. Blooming from your chest, chokes out your voice. Ruins your days, your mindset, your outlook on life. The breaths get harder, but all around you everyone looks fine. That is, until they look at you. The judgement, the hatred, indeed even the pity. I don’t want it. I just want to be left alone. And at the same time I want to be comforted. I want to be told everything’s going to be okay. I want to know that there’s someone there that will never leave me. But to ask that of anyone is selfish to the highest degree. How can I ask someone to stay with me when I can’t even stand myself? How could I torture another human to appease my own suffering. Ironically, it would cause more grief for both of the afflicted. Everything tells me that I should kill myself. What do I have to live for? A World that doesn’t care. People that don’t care about the world. People that don’t care about other people. I live in a world of parasites and leeches. I am not excluded. Even now I siphon the happiness from others for no benefit. Perhaps this is something all of humanity must go through. A phase of depression. After all, it seems that all those that succeed, that do well seem to become depressed. How comical it would be if depression was a sign of success. And how stupid we would be to pursue such a dream. I could never kill myself. Whether out of cowardice or the will to live, though I’m fairly certain everyone’s entertained the thought before.

Dear Me,
The songs will regain their beauty. You just have to wait and let yourself recover. I know that now it doesn’t seem like anyone cares, but if you don’t show it how are they supposed to know? I know it’s hard to be vulnerable, it’s hard to let people in when you’ve just been hurt by people you cared about, but I also know that you’re in your own way. You want someone to comfort you? Then let them. Perhaps they may suffer if you let them in, but that just means you need to be there for them when they need it. I’m sorry, but your suffering is permanent. Nothing will remove the scar in your chest. It’s is there to stay. It’s there to show you that you went through agony and made it out alive. Now it’s up to you to get better, to become better, to make yourself better than when you went in. Suicide is selfish. You forfeit your own life at the cost of others’ suffering. You have no right to take the life that others have given you. You may not feel happy now, you may feel like shit. But it’ll pass and you’ll see that you had so much more than you thought you had. And what you lost? Well, it wasn’t really all that much at all. Those people that decided you weren’t worth their time aren’t worth yours. The opportunities you lost give you time to capitalize on new ones. That thing you wanted so deeply now is something that you’ll pass on later. Ultimately, this world is horrible. Each generation believes themselves to be better than the one before and the one after it. Humanity is innately flawed. Sad as it is to say, we are human. Both of us will make many many many many many many many many more mistakes in our lifetime. But the value of each mistake depends on what we make of them. You made a mistake. Multiple really. But you stand to gain so much from this experience. The pain is something you have to feel now so that later you can empathize with others. You need to experience to understand. We humans are innately flawed, yes. But at least we can be innately flawed together, and help each other grow from it. Let other people help you. You will find happiness there. Happy New Year me.

I could have done better. I know I could have. I can always do better. It’s a self destructive thought that often leads nowhere. As much as I want to do better for some reason, I never feel like I do any better. Orson Scott Card said, “Perhaps it’s impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be” which means that if I try really hard to be good and do good, then I am good. Or at the very least I’m on the path to goodness. But what’s the point? Don’t get me wrong, I understand that to be a good person and do helpful, kind acts isn’t supposed to be about you. I genuinely believe that everyone has an obligation to make the world a better place, or at least an obligation to go into every day with intent to help someone somewhere in someway. And of course that are times where I feel that I’ve made an actual difference to someone and that will always be amazing and special. These occasions are rare. More often than not, helping someone else heightens my awareness of my own problems. But I can’t say anything. After all, I’m helping someone else who is in a state of emotional turmoil. They won’t be able to take my burden off my shoulders. So I bottle. I bottle and bottle and bottle and bottle until I breakdown in the privacy of my own home. I’m safe there. Then I can still be strong for others when they need me. Perhaps need is too strong of a word. I really don’t feel like anyone “needs” me. It’s more like. . . something convenient. I’m helpful to have around. Seeing it put into words really puts my thoughts into perspective. Do I draw self esteem from other people’s approval? Or maybe even worse, is helping others when they’re at low points a form of emotional manipulation to get them to like me more? Even if I do what I think helps them, maybe subconsciously I’m only doing it because I know that it’ll make me look better afterwards. It’s a sobering thought. I’ve come to the conclusion that I have two choices. I can either become an even better person and work to cull out the imperfections from my goodness or I can give up and accept that I will never be good enough. Perhaps I can do both. 

To think that I trusted you. It was a chilly night. My hands, though not numb, were shuddering. The steady hum of my laptop provided ambiance to my thoughts. A notification bell shatters the silence and my hands once again set off on their dance across the keyboard. They are my messengers, telling the world what I think, what I feel. But to allow someone to see my thoughts, I have to let them see me at my most vulnerable. To confide is to trust. I have been warned against trusting before. Lots of hurt feelings come from trusting the wrong person. They let you give and give and give and give only to manipulate and break and shatter later. But I continue giving regardless, hoping that one day my trust will find its way to the right person. Should’ve known better then not to give it at night. My thoughts are at their wildest then, jumping from train to train with reckless abandon. They rip my filters away and scream, “free ! finally free from forty filters !” For during the day I place my thoughts under lock and key. But tonight I let them frolic. I was punished heavily for it. It was just one question. One question was all it took. She told me no, but I still insisted that I was right. I’m right on the things that matter. She told me that before. I trusted her then too. I push forward. “no no no no no” she reiterated over and over. That’s it. In a fury, my fingers once again fly, but they no longer dance. The messengers have been given their orders, and they execute them will feverish fervor. “Do frogs eat fish?” they cry into the void. And then the blessed answer pops up on the screen. “Yes”. LIES LIES LIES LIES. SHE LIED TO ME. There is no greater betrayal. My trust thrown to the side like trash, like its owner. I grab my filters and swallow them whole, like a frog does a fish. No more trusting. From now on, I shall swallow my words, like a frog does a fish.