There was a time when I couldn’t stand to be alone with my own thoughts for more than a few hours at a time. There was a time when silence and solitude were to be avoided at all costs, lest I be forced to contend with the pain of my existence. There was a time when I absolutely hated myself.
Things are different now. I enjoy the solitude. I’m intrigued by my existence and it’s easier and easier to love myself, especially when I am by myself.
What faults I have (or will admit to having) I only consider faults when I am in close proximity—either physically or emotionally—to other humans. I only think less of myself now when my personality starts to rub against theirs because no matter what I do, it always seems to rub the wrong way.
When I am alone, my mind, to me, moves in such beautiful ways. When I am with others suddenly it is too grounded, too predictable, too boring, too dreary.
There was a time I wished I could see myself the way other people saw me, but now I wish other people could see me the way I see me. I wish other people understood the way I see the world. I wish other people appreciated the way I see the world.
I wish people knew there are other ways to be happy, to be hopeful, to express optimism. My happiness is grounded. My hope is action based. My optimism is tempered by realism.
I suppose I find the real world more exciting than daydreams and fantasies. I think problem solving and problem facing are how you really move forward. Words mean little to me and grand plans that don’t take into account catastrophe or crisis and contain no contingency plans are little more than empty talk and a waste of time. There are better uses of energy and more fulfilling ways to chase euphoria.