To de-isolate the isolated self.

Feelings of isolation, desperation, and fears can truly stunt your abilities to work towards motivating yourself. Consequently, the feelings you wish to combat seem nearly impossible to overcome despite your feeble attempts. Recently, I made a conscious decision to attempt to work towards accepting the feelings and emotions that I have experienced over the past year. Despite my efforts, it seems, that even if I put forth my best effort it has potential to go unnoticed. When I consider the purpose of life, and reflect on that notion, I'm not quite sure many of us ever reach a point where we feel comfortable saying we have "one true purpose". Ultimately, you either have the type of life where you have the motivation and ability to get what you want (i.e. feeling as though you achieved purpose fulfillment). Or, excessive trauma gets the better of you and you crumble under the seemingly endless pastors of forgotten plains (i.e. questioning if any of us truly have a purpose). Unfortunately, my once existential self has begun to stop questioning my purpose. As Camus asserts, humans are meaning seeking beings; however, life often does not provide us with concrete meanings (Camus, 1946). Therefore, much of our lives we seek meaning, have a deep rooted desire to understand who we are, and ultimately discover our true purpose. What then, does one become, when they begin to give up on purpose? What is a human without that fiery need to understand who they are?

To me, I've become somewhat of a living ghost. I float through life wondering if my existence means anything. However, while some people have several meanings they can pull from their inner treasure chests, I have none. My treasure chest has become sealed tight under the grasp of darkness from my own heart. I've searched high and low for the key to open the beautiful, unique, and purposeful treasure. As a result, I've created a world of isolation in myself. Intentionally isolating myself so that others won't be subject to the darkness that has created a dark cloud over my treasure. I'm told that the isolation causes people to "forget you", but if you are present and suddenly vanish shouldn't people wonder what happened? Shouldn't, much like crime shows, others detect some sort of foul play? Or does one need to physically disappear for people to step in and truly want to help? Mental disconnection, isolation, clear indications of a bigger issue can be a serious issue as well. Though you are physically present, there is a sense of disappearance. The person who once was there no longer remains. 

I don't want to go down in the history of my life knowing that I failed myself. However, there comes a point in life, at times, when one can't accomplish things without the help of others. It's particularly difficult for me to ask for help. I've always viewed myself as strong, able, and ready to concur anything and everything. The last year has been challenging on me, and while I required much more help then I received, I didn't ask for help. Even now, it has become increasingly difficult for me to force myself out, give up on searching for my key to my treasure chest, and try to overcome the fear of reaching out. I often wonder, if there is some way to better accomplish this. I sit, upset, distraught, reading work that makes me feel, but at the same time makes me further aware of my situation. There is much uncertainty and fear. Moreover, I feel as though the suffering did not end simply with the loss of my mom or my several ankle breaks/surgery, but now with my hopes for the future and what I want to do. People say "it will get better" or "you will overcome this" but alas I question these concepts. How does one simply get better when they continue to miss out on opportunities and feel as though not many people truly care?

I shall end this blog, because even writing this was an incredible struggle. A struggle I knew I must attempt. My writing is my therapy. My stories are what have been detrimental to my life, but also what have prompted me to work as hard as I have. It is a painful, happy, precious, and scary road that I must travel. To live, learn, and grow on my own personal road to narrative.