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You do not know me.
You do not who I am.
Nope, not you.
Or you here.
Or you there.
Or you over here.
Or you over there.
(although you do understand a part of me if you know what I just referenced)
Oh, you may feel like you know me. But very few people do know me. My high school inner circle knows me better than most people do because they spent time with me during those awkward junior high and high school years. My BSU buddies have seen the positive side of my pessimism. My former suitemates understand me as I’ve had to explain the appeal of anime to them, and in the process a bit of who I am. My scheming roommate is a brother to me now after having inhabited the same space for three plus years now. My dad, mom, and elder sister have the advantage of being with me through my formative years.
Combined, they would know who I am. But they’ve only seen bits and pieces of me, though some more than others. Some think I am a very somber and serious guy, while others think I am the funniest guy alive. Some think I have few talents at all, while others think I have too many talents to be counted. Some think I am a hardworking type A personality, while others think I am a lazy, spoiled brat. Some think that I am a natural leader, while others think I never call the shots. Some people think I am a pessimist, while others think I am a realist.
Only God knows who I am.
I had a recent conversation with Miss Hedgehog about the dangers of blogging (in truth, I probably am posting too much even if I am hyperattentive right now). First, you can never really know somebody just over a blog. That’s because people can “edit” their personalities to be whoever they want to be. It’s so deceptive! However, I felt obligated to point out that deception is inherent in any form of communication. In fact, I feel like people are more deceptive in real life. Think about poker for a rudimentary example.
Miss Hedgehog also believes that too many people use blogs as to escape the real world. Instead of facing up to their problems, they would rather sit six or seven hours a day on the Internet chatting with people who cannot hurt them, or at least people who they can choose to ignore when they feel inconvenienced. They would rather read pixels on a screen than go through the scary proposition of talking to someone face to face. These people vent on their blogs so they can feel like they accomplished something. You know they have at least taken their problems out in a marginally healthy fashion. However, just like medicine taken properly heals us, but medicine taken in excess hurts us, relying solely on a bunch of blogging (or any other form of Internet communication) to resolve one’s problems is a bad idea when done in excess.
God put other human beings on the earth for a reason.
I assume I see the best part of people in their blogs because of the natural inclination of editing yourself to be the best person you can be. I believe in the greater good in people, and on their blogs people are at their best, asking you to donate to worthy causes with passion. Yet, I am a naïve cynic, so I have to expect people’s worst. This is why I don’t mind people who complain about their medical situation or b*tch and moan about idiots. To me that’s just balancing who they are, as they do not want to give you the wrong impression. And really, I set my expectations so low that it’s hard to disappoint me.
I mean, if you disappoint me, you’re probably dead to be completely honest.
(No, I would not be the one who killed you)
Miss Hedgehog made me think about the danger of paper journals as well. A psych major once told me that people who keep paper journals are four times as less likely to get depression. However, keeping a journal does not make you impervious to depression. And I got thinking about all the dark and deep thoughts I put into my paper journal. So dark and deep that I can share it with only one other person, and that will be the person who will marry me (I plan to let her read my paper journals after we get engaged…though that’s sort of risky as she might call off the marriage after she learns what I truly think). I hardly let anyone ever know what I am truly thinking, even right now.
A lot of people told me they were shocked when they heard I had to leave school due to my depression. They were shocked, not just surprised. That’s because in talking with me you could not tell I was depressed. I made other people laugh even when I was crying inside. My overwhelming sense of duty allowed me to do things I did not care one iota about. I masterfully honed my ability to tell other people what they want to hear after having to tell my parents what they wanted to hear my entire life.
I still am excellent at doing that.
(Yet another thing I have to change about myself.)
And you know at what point you are really screwed? When you start writing poetry. Reading poetry to occupy your mind or understand your depression is fine. Poets have a way of touching your soul. But once you start writing poetry in an attempt to alleviate your depression, you know you are off the deep end. This is because I believe you are dangerously close to your own death. The best poets often got loads of inspiration right before their die. Now, in most cases, they had some sort of terminal disease that the crappy medical technology of the 19th century could not cure. But then we all know the cases of poets unexpectedly killing themselves. They probably surprised their friends and families, too.
I thank God for my senior AP English teacher, who made me despise poetry so much that I swore I would never write another poem after her awfully work-intensive class (we nicknamed her "The Slavedriver").
So in the end, I guess we just have to trust each other. When we see someone talk about something bothering them, we should probably email them to make sure everything is okay. For me, if you do not see my post for a while without warning, something is wrong. Blogging is a measure of how aware I am of the world. The less I blog, the more apathetic I am.
That’s not a good thing.
Perhaps, Miss Hedgehog said it best:
You must be accepting of others' faults, but not blind. True friendship comes from seeing all those dark, evil places, but loving the other person anyways.
You do not who I am.
Nope, not you.
Or you here.
Or you there.
Or you over here.
Or you over there.
(although you do understand a part of me if you know what I just referenced)
Oh, you may feel like you know me. But very few people do know me. My high school inner circle knows me better than most people do because they spent time with me during those awkward junior high and high school years. My BSU buddies have seen the positive side of my pessimism. My former suitemates understand me as I’ve had to explain the appeal of anime to them, and in the process a bit of who I am. My scheming roommate is a brother to me now after having inhabited the same space for three plus years now. My dad, mom, and elder sister have the advantage of being with me through my formative years.
Combined, they would know who I am. But they’ve only seen bits and pieces of me, though some more than others. Some think I am a very somber and serious guy, while others think I am the funniest guy alive. Some think I have few talents at all, while others think I have too many talents to be counted. Some think I am a hardworking type A personality, while others think I am a lazy, spoiled brat. Some think that I am a natural leader, while others think I never call the shots. Some people think I am a pessimist, while others think I am a realist.
Only God knows who I am.
I had a recent conversation with Miss Hedgehog about the dangers of blogging (in truth, I probably am posting too much even if I am hyperattentive right now). First, you can never really know somebody just over a blog. That’s because people can “edit” their personalities to be whoever they want to be. It’s so deceptive! However, I felt obligated to point out that deception is inherent in any form of communication. In fact, I feel like people are more deceptive in real life. Think about poker for a rudimentary example.
Miss Hedgehog also believes that too many people use blogs as to escape the real world. Instead of facing up to their problems, they would rather sit six or seven hours a day on the Internet chatting with people who cannot hurt them, or at least people who they can choose to ignore when they feel inconvenienced. They would rather read pixels on a screen than go through the scary proposition of talking to someone face to face. These people vent on their blogs so they can feel like they accomplished something. You know they have at least taken their problems out in a marginally healthy fashion. However, just like medicine taken properly heals us, but medicine taken in excess hurts us, relying solely on a bunch of blogging (or any other form of Internet communication) to resolve one’s problems is a bad idea when done in excess.
God put other human beings on the earth for a reason.
I assume I see the best part of people in their blogs because of the natural inclination of editing yourself to be the best person you can be. I believe in the greater good in people, and on their blogs people are at their best, asking you to donate to worthy causes with passion. Yet, I am a naïve cynic, so I have to expect people’s worst. This is why I don’t mind people who complain about their medical situation or b*tch and moan about idiots. To me that’s just balancing who they are, as they do not want to give you the wrong impression. And really, I set my expectations so low that it’s hard to disappoint me.
I mean, if you disappoint me, you’re probably dead to be completely honest.
(No, I would not be the one who killed you)
Miss Hedgehog made me think about the danger of paper journals as well. A psych major once told me that people who keep paper journals are four times as less likely to get depression. However, keeping a journal does not make you impervious to depression. And I got thinking about all the dark and deep thoughts I put into my paper journal. So dark and deep that I can share it with only one other person, and that will be the person who will marry me (I plan to let her read my paper journals after we get engaged…though that’s sort of risky as she might call off the marriage after she learns what I truly think). I hardly let anyone ever know what I am truly thinking, even right now.
A lot of people told me they were shocked when they heard I had to leave school due to my depression. They were shocked, not just surprised. That’s because in talking with me you could not tell I was depressed. I made other people laugh even when I was crying inside. My overwhelming sense of duty allowed me to do things I did not care one iota about. I masterfully honed my ability to tell other people what they want to hear after having to tell my parents what they wanted to hear my entire life.
I still am excellent at doing that.
(Yet another thing I have to change about myself.)
And you know at what point you are really screwed? When you start writing poetry. Reading poetry to occupy your mind or understand your depression is fine. Poets have a way of touching your soul. But once you start writing poetry in an attempt to alleviate your depression, you know you are off the deep end. This is because I believe you are dangerously close to your own death. The best poets often got loads of inspiration right before their die. Now, in most cases, they had some sort of terminal disease that the crappy medical technology of the 19th century could not cure. But then we all know the cases of poets unexpectedly killing themselves. They probably surprised their friends and families, too.
I thank God for my senior AP English teacher, who made me despise poetry so much that I swore I would never write another poem after her awfully work-intensive class (we nicknamed her "The Slavedriver").
So in the end, I guess we just have to trust each other. When we see someone talk about something bothering them, we should probably email them to make sure everything is okay. For me, if you do not see my post for a while without warning, something is wrong. Blogging is a measure of how aware I am of the world. The less I blog, the more apathetic I am.
That’s not a good thing.
Perhaps, Miss Hedgehog said it best:
You must be accepting of others' faults, but not blind. True friendship comes from seeing all those dark, evil places, but loving the other person anyways.
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