Hilarious discovery today, found a list entitled ‘reasons to live vs reasons to die’. Needless to say – it was a hoot. Got me thinking though, just how depressive must I have been? Sadly enough the reasons to die half of the sprawly, troubled page grossly outweighed the other – yet I am still here. A good friend of mine once said he wished he could, direct quote, ‘take some of my emotions for me’. Much as they pain me, I wouldn’t want him to. I am guilty of constant and unending over-analysis, never content with face value, I seem to look and read between the lines, even if it’s not necessary. I am guilty of sabotaging my own happiness. I am guilty of applying literary analysis to everyday life. But worst of all, I am guilty of being discontented with my lot.
But even in spite of all these things I am guilty of, I still wouldn’t change the way I view the world. I may sometimes present a cynical and often embittered view of things, turn past events into humorous anecdotes to disguise (poorly) the fact they still affect me, and attempt to (again poorly) look on the dark side of life rather than brighter, more normal side, but I am so sure that these affectations define me. And someone, somewhere, some day (hopefully soon) is going to notice these things as nothing short of endearing, or if not that, for the small and insignificant parts of me they are. I remain, after all, defined by my family, friends and achievements. And if that be the case, well, I am proud to be excellently abnormal.
Hx
