I find the human condition to be a muddled mess of paradoxes. My own head, heart, soul, pulling and pushing me into conflicting and contradictory directions. I crave what I don’t have, disregard what I do, seek out one thing then change my mind in the next second, yearn for a time of hardship to end, then reminisce over such a time filled with growth.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Is it a conscious choice? Or a curse? Why is it so impossible to find peace within one’s own soul?

I laugh out loud in the early morning stillness. This is not a unique situation I find myself in; this struggling I constantly return into and spin. I am plodding behind countless billions of other humans who have fought just like me, others alive now who are currently battling with these exact same thoughts!

To love another with all of your heart… and know for a fact they will never love you back.

To succeed and celebrate… and have it feel hollow, like you still haven’t done enough.

To put your all into something and have it not matter… to anyone. To be forgotten, have yourself be forgotten.

Ah… these thoughts are the fields of philosophers, of poets, songwriters… of drunk men and women at the bar.

A tortured soul. I’ve heard that description for many an artist. Of those who struggled with these very things and have had the talent to put their heart’s weeping into words. A phrase for those unashamed to voice in vulnerability that which many must feel. I don’t mean to put myself beside any of those greats. That’s not my aim here. I bring them up to remind myself I am not alone.

No… My aim here is to use this space for my own comfort, for my own ability to escape the knots I have coiled up within myself. For a time.

The human condition. We are social creatures. Sharing, talking, commiserating helps. Each of us a balm to each other’s condition: a good friend, a trusted family member, a loyal lover to help carry the weight of our own inadequacy. A mirror to see ourselves, not as our demons scream in our ears continually the worst in who we are, but as they, the outside observer with our best interest at heart, see and celebrate the beauty within us.

Myself? I possess a heavy heart. One of joy and weeping, one who won’t be settled. One who churns and runs in circles, always active, always on, always trying, always… It can be exhausting. To myself, to others. I wear people down, I break people. I don’t try to. I go too deep, too broad, I push the boundaries past what is proper. I scream and cry and feel! And I have found, pushing all of this… mess that is me… onto other people can be unwise.  It takes a special few who care and … most don’t. Or leave. Or can’t. Thus… I write. An attempt to self soothe and let my churning thoughts be put to good use.

A simile. My mind is like a spinning motor. One of those massive hydroelectric dam motors, with this ever boundless life and my thoughts that impressive force of water behind and through said motor. Without a load, I’d burn up, I’d break apart, I’d explode myself and this whole dam and flood countless acres of good, usable land. In this example, other people. With a load, with an outlet, I can become electricity, useful… still dangerous… but no longer a hazard.

Again, I write all of this here for myself. And maybe for you. That’s why I’m not leaving it on my laptop unshared, like so many other of my countless churning words. Maybe you will find this snippet of humanity and understand. Be strengthened with my own brand of electricity.

Know you’re not alone.

Keep trying. Like me. Keep trying.