The thing about life is that you only get one. To quote Imagine Dragons, "they say it's what you make," but the reality of it is, you have no control over it. Try as we might, some harder than others, life has a mind of her own. Why call life 'her'? Because as a woman, being indecisive and unpredictable is what we're known for. Hence, life. There is no true meaning. Technically we aren't even our own. We're born knowing absolutely nothing and die thinking we know everything. The truth is, we learn and obtain all we know, and do, from peers, family, media, etcetera. I haven't met a single human being that took initiative into their own hands to prove to the world that they can be their own person.
Then there is 'love'. What the fuck is that? These days I'm beginning to think it's a complete waste of time and a terrible, chemical imbalance of the brain. It should be the most glorious feeling in the universe, right? It's supposed to be a one time, life long commitment, right? It's believed to conquer all and come back to you if it's "meant to be." It's been said millions of times over "fight for what you 'love'. I go back to the question then, what is love? Why do humans torment themselves with a word? Why is it something so physically painful, we go out searching for it every single time it's lost? Ponder that one for me.
Happiness. Our society is so doped up on antidepressants, Xanax, and the dollar amount in bank accounts, that we've completely forgotten what true happiness is outside of those of barriers. I'll admit, I've fallen victim to the latter at some point in my life, but now I wish I could relapse and fall into the open arms of Prozac and Xanax once again. To have that numb happiness that feels oh so unnaturally good. Sad, isn't it?
Speaking of sadness, what is it about life that it gives you so much of that? We can put a lot of the blame on love. He's just a menace any more. We crave sadness in a sick, sometimes malicious, way. We use it to get sympathy, attention, sex, love, and basically anything our sorry hearts desire.
We are messed up individuals, if we can even really call ourselves that. Individual. Looking for a purpose until we don't even recognize ourselves in the mirror. You can strive all you want for the perfect body, career, person, even life. There's that word again. But everyone will find some flaw. Some way to bring you down. There is no such thing as "perfection". It is nonexistent. A waste of believing.
izzy806
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