3am

It's hard for me to start these because I don't take words lightly. I mean I'm concerned about what represents me. I don't like being vague either. Sometimes I like to write rhymes because I'm allowed to limit the expressions of my mind and take what arrives at my fingertips and turn it fine. When it's not satisfying it's a sign that I need to rewind then take my time. It feels like a crime when I remember a typed-out line and it feels unrefined or pulled from a place inside besides what I would like to inspire. It's all a learning process, that's the point. I'm trying to speak from myself, from within, not necessarily to anybody. That means I don't really care if I'm understood. At the same time, though, I do. The point is not only to better understand myself, though that's the one I seem to speak of the most. It's to be better understood by my friends and family. I don't think I'm an enigma but I've certainly kept most of me inside. That's harder for me to be open about. I value embarrassing levels of honesty, yet there are topics I dance around. That's a discussion for another time. I hope there's a sense of the pain and conflict I feel in these writings, along with my extremely high expectations and standards for life. One of my core conflicts is that it seems nobody really takes life seriously. I mean life as in the actual term life. What we are, not what we are experiencing. It's why I've gravitated towards philosophy. Philosophers take life seriously. We don't know what the hell we are doing here and people decide to live without even considering it. I don't feel bitterness towards them, mainly confusion. It doesn't make sense to me that the world continues running because there's seemingly no reason for it to. I don't understand why we don't all look around and wonder "What the shit is going on?". Of course, we have obligations and emotions that drive us forward and necessarily make us ignorant of our complete lack of understanding of the purpose of our existence but don't they all seem so pointless once you remember that there really isn't any true end-goal? Especially if you're an atheist, which I consider myself to be almost entirely save for a bit of hope that there is some reason we'll come to understand at the time of our death. Considering the rise of atheism in the United States, you would expect that there would be more of a serious discussion surrounding the problem of an atheistic existence. I'm dipping my toes here into something I'm not well educated on but it seems like all we have to hold onto is hope. I don't think it makes sense to live life not believing in a possible existential purpose while remaining stable and satisfied. I have an image of the people who claim they do as naive and egotistical. The only two ways I see that will allow an atheist to continue living comfortably are to limit existential thinking or to create a new purpose that technically falls under the definition of being atheistic, such as spirituality or an undeterminable higher power. 

I think I hate talking about stuff like this because it makes me annoyingly self-conscious about how much I don't know. I feel the gravitas of it but once I start actually trying to put together an argument or points that feel right I can immediately consider something that would potentially completely obliterate what I am saying. It feels like a waste of time discussing it if what I'm saying is already out there and written in a more in-depth and creative way. What I'm writing feels like common-folk philosophy. It lies at a point where each half of the population would consider it interesting and relevant or a few good, albeit common-sense observations with little in the way of substance. I guess it all depends on my intention. Truthfully, I really do want to put together observations and connections I've made in a neat way, so that I can convince people of... something. To take life less seriously? To let go of the over-the-top serious perception of the life you're living and to focus on me instead? 

This is future me rereading this. I would like to defend myself here but I don't know what I would say. That's all. Carry on.

On second thought, I want to mention the possibility that this was the beginning of a shame and doubt spiral, which I mistook for me being honest with myself. Maybe not the beginning, just the moment in which I chose to commit to it. The thought felt powerful but I really would like to think better of myself than my intellectual curiosity being a way to manipulate people into hating their lives and viewing me above them. If it is, it doesn't work anyway. Plus I hate when people think I'm smart. I mean I love it but I don't trust it. I tend to think that people don't believe what they say and they're more likely to believe whatever my brain decides they believe. Call me smart? You think I'm dumb, you're just polite (but really you're an asshole for being dishonest and playing mind games). Call me dumb? You're insecure and trying to make yourself feel better (and you're an asshole, but one that I pity). Though I don't remember a time where I've been seriously called dumb. They're all too nice. I haven't talked to enough people. I haven't lived. Anyway,

I hope it's not that but that thought was gnawing at me. It still is. It took me a few moments to word it correctly. When I write philosophically there is always a shift in my intention. It starts with genuine curiosity and a bit of anguish and turns into me racking my brain trying to find the right thing to say in order to impress and ride the ego high of feeling like an intellectual. Oh, and give me brownie points for self-awareness (for this too(and that(this could go on forever))). It's embarrassing to write that out because I'm not sure if I'm actually a very simple person and I just don't realize it. I know my brain is not very good at doing the things a brain does. My memory is bad, as is my ability to process visual and auditory information. And speaking? Forget about it. Even if I understand what somebody says to me the most I can usually manage is a basic, uninteresting response. It's why I usually prefer to remain silent. I know I come off as rude but I'm past the point of caring. I like to think of it as stoic, or I like to think that other people think of it that way. Though that might just be a delusion. My conception of what's important and what's right and wrong seems to be entirely based on what other people think, though I don't have any desire to do anything bad, I have the same lack of desire to do anything good. However, I'm not even sure if that's true or if I just need to meet some new people or chat with a friend. I'm not sure if I'm discussing revelations about who I am or delusions coming from an anxious isolation. I know that I feel more confident when I talk and spend time with friends but I don't know if it grounds me or serves the delusion that I am normal, or perhaps greater than normal.