The Grass Looked Greener in the Past

This was me no more than two-three years ago. Can you believe it?

Back then, I thought I was fat and ugly. I was ashamed of being surrounded by big groups of people (e.g., parties, eating out, going to the mall) because I was ashamed of being seen. I was ashamed of myself.

I took pictures to compensate for how I perceived myself. I thought that if I could take a few pictures that others would perhaps find attractive, they could convince me that I was attractive. Yes, the pictures I took were nice, but inside I still felt ugly and undeserving. I realized that even if I could change every physical aspect of me, the ugliness I perceived would not change. What I saw was not the problem, but how I saw it.

Now that a few years have passed, the person in the picture seems like a separate entity from me. A person whose attractiveness I can appreciate. I wish I could be that person again. Perhaps I am still this person. Perhaps nothing has changed. I just wish that the beauty I can now see in my past is something I can appreciate in my present self. Maybe, just maybe, in some time, I will look back and appreciate the person sitting in front of this computer. However, I really want to look at myself in the present moment and see the beauty in what is now.

My Own Enemy

Been fighting my own shadow. Once I looked the other way, I had to let it go.

Death

I'm afraid of death. Who isn't, right? It's like a debilitating fear, for me, however.  I've mentioned it before and labeled my situation as "thanatophobia". Should I be labeling it as such? A part of me believes it to be true, but another part of me perhaps just doesn't understand or know how to live...

Whenever I think of death, I find myself saying, "What's the point of it all?" What's the point of building myself up if all that will happen will simply crumble through death? What's the point of loving, attaching myself to others, or even finding what I'm passionate about if such things will inevitably flee from me? It scares me and makes me want nothing more than to crawl into bed and not get up. In a sense, I feel as if I'm trying to fight against death by trying to make sure that death would have nothing to take from me...

Then I realized: I'm giving away my life into the nothingness. Each moment, each passing second, each possibility I don't grasp is a portion of life I'm voluntarily letting go by staying idle.

I'm afraid of death. Everyone is. I don't have a say as to how my life will end... However, I do have control over how my life could be lived. I still don't understand life. Ultimately, I don't understand myself.

Je reviens.

Hello. I'm back. Expect a legitimate blog post from me soon.

Love,
Kenneth