Fear and more [journal]

I do not know how many buckets of tears I will have cried for knowing how much I will leave behind, how much I will lose, how much I must forget, how much I must protect, how much things must change. Tell me all you want that these things aren't worth crying over, but I will anyway because of how important resisting change is to me, and because of how this will be a complete change -- a whole new life, but not entirely.

I'm afraid.

There are so many things to fear. Some may be realistic but a bit farfetched, and some may hardly deserve to be a serious fear because they are so insubstantial and not worth the attention. But fear will be fear, and so long as I am afraid, I must remain armed against them in the event that they do come to pass.

There is one thing that I fear, but I cannot defend myself from it.

It is myself. Or specifically, my dark side. It is weakening me with its constant demands for sadism and bloodshed. To try to live innocently has become impossible. Resisting this only makes the demands louder, sapping more of my energy as I keep on fighting back. It is difficult to keep its thoughts out of my mind, and I doubt that I could ever completely defeat it, that my only real alternative is to give in. Yet if I do give in, it would be the same as committing suicide, except that there would be a moment of ecstacy and a moment of renewed hunger before I die. It is really any better to die that way, to feel fulfilled, but remorseful as I take my last breath? Even if that moment of fulfillment leaves me quickly for a desire to go further? Is that really any better than dying because of my misery and because it is the quickest way to drive the voice out of my head?

Impromptu Hamlet

To drink, or not to drink, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The fuzziness and dull aches of the morning after
Than to awaken, too late - to spend the morning
Having slept through it: to drink, to think
No more; to think is to subject myself
To the pains of the thousand natural worries
That my mind is heir to; such a situation
I devoutly wish to avoid. To drink, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to dream: Aye, there's the rub,
For in that druggèd slumber, those dreams that come
Lack in form and the desolate image of death
That gives me pause. Is this what I must face
If I do drink and sleep without my pleasure:
For who will bear the whips and scorns of my fantasies,
The oppressor's abuse, the proud man violated,
The patient pain of his torturer's rakes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who else but myself
Would wish to see these images of man,
Tortured beyond death, when there can be
So many other visions that could be conjured
In our sleep? This does puzzle my will,
And makes me prefer to blind my eyes to this ill
Than to allow its image to burn into my eyelids.
Thus my conscience makes a coward of me
And thus I must resist the compulsion
To bring these dreams into reality,
And in this regard turn their wickedness awry
And lose the name of these actions.

Concerns [journal]

Within me I feel a dimming flame, a torch that will die as I step into the void of the unknown.

Interesting how my worries are not about academics but always about putting together this supposed new life and living it in a way that resembles to the best of its ability what I picture in my mind. Unfortunately without all of the danger and adventure, of course.

Why is living my greater concern? Because I've never been able to live my life on my own terms (and if not that, a life where the one in control understands me -- that person being me, of course). Because I need a break from worrying about studying and grades. Mostly because I think that better understanding of how my living habits must change will lead to a better understanding of what is going on in my mind and how it works.