while inefficient, vitality saves our ship

Life happens in chapters. You don't always know how long the chapter is going to be, but you read on because it is the best book you own and you can never tell for certain what's going to happen in the next few pages.

Everyone has a story that would play out splendidly in fiction--full of the realest of the real. Drama, comedy, conflict, resolution, tears, laughter, friendship, enmity, love and hate. Some people believe that there are stories from their lives that should never be told, usually to protect themselves or those they care about from those who may potentially read it. However, I think so few of these stories actually get told that it would be a privilege to be able to regale one in its entirety to someone who would listen, regardless of the kind of dirt contained within. Of course, as in the re-telling of any tale, the words are never as complete and as true as they were on the pages from whence they came--the pages that comprise the story of your life.

But is it even reasonable to draw comparisons between a paperback work of fiction and the real world? Does life really happen in chapters, or am I deluding myself in an effort to help better define my perpetually undefined life? I'm not sure the real world should be presented in vague riddles and analogous metaphors. I'm not sure people take it seriously. Some can (I know I can, at least), but more and more I get the impression that if you tried to explain a splitting headache to someone by referencing, oh say, the sensation of being a beer bottle when someone tries to open it with the hard end of a lighter instead of a proper bottle opener....well, I just think that most people would find that confusing and miss the point. When really, all you wanted was a sincere, "I know what you mean."

For a long time, I've been the only one in charge of defining things in my own head. This means that nobody but me can question whether or not what I am thinking and how I am operating is right or wrong. My friends that once played a big part in influencing the conclusions I would come to are not as disenchanted and cynical as I have become and I suppose that's a big part of the reason that they don't offer much support in trying to fix that anymore. It's hard to help someone if you've already gotten over the problems that they are having, especially if you've already given them the advice that worked for you and it ended up having no effect whatsoever (or leaving them even more depressed)--people are different, imagine that. At that point, your friend's problem is now their problem, not yours and that's when you begin to drift out of close contact on the level of emotional support.

That's what happened to me: my friends got better, I didn't and now they don't know to help me because I've been so fucked up for so long. It probably sounds like I'm coming off a little steamed about this, but I really don't hold it against anyone. Above all things, I am glad that my friends are mostly okay
and that the people I care about are NOT in my position. Sacrificing the emotional support of my friends for their emotional well-being seems like a fair trade-off to me. The bane of an altruist. A long time ago, when we were somewhat dependent on one another to find happiness, only one of us would have to succeed for me to reap the rewards. To see my friends happy was enough to make me happy and achieving that was my primary goal in life back then. Make it so that the people whom you care for find happiness, and ye shall find nirvana.

I don't know what happened then. I suppose love mucked it all up. My simple plan for finding perpetual bliss got its ass kicked by a more powerful emotion and it all became about making one person happy, even if it meant making the people you had cared for most suffer a little. The rewards of love are grand--worth more than I ever could've dreamed of achieving as hormonal roller coaster of a teenager amongst my friends. And worth the sacrifice, however selfish it may seem to devote all your care to someone else over your friends and family. I don't believe everyone finds that, but I don't want to pretend to be the expert either. I think that it is widely understood what love "is" and what it's like to be in love, but if you don't understand what a fool you would be to turn it away in favour of some personal ambition, then it has never truly been yours to behold. If you've had it and then lost it, the prospect of finding it again becomes all that you live for and the waiting becomes difficult and emotionally erosive over time. The only question that remains is how long you can survive empty and how long you can endure the burden of loneliness before you become too embittered to be loved, no matter how much you want it. Need it.

"What nourishes me also destroys me."