The great (and sometimes controversial) philosopher Jacques Derrida once said that he was plagued by fear after writing a controversial piece challenging other thinkers or establishing what was known to him as “the truth.” As a writer, a similar fear seems to come over me as I begin to plan an essay or I begin to write. Journal entries, essays, personal narratives. They all follow in a similar path; they connect to my inner thoughts and feelings.

I have struggled with depression for most of my teenage life. It has never been easy, and I have tried a lot. Therapy, medication, journal entries… the usual psychological concoction to cure me of the plague that had been hindering me my last few years of my life (which, when you think about it, has been a big part of my life). In daily life, I try to repress my feelings and block them out so I can have a normal day and function for those who need me. It may sound selfish for me to say that people need me, but I use this phrase in the context that if someone should need my help, I will be there for them.

When I write, the thought of certain feelings, thoughts and situations bring back many of those previously mentioned repressed feelings. Writing forces me to confront how I really feel. I would not write some of the things I do if I did not truly feel that way. Of course, this would be true of any essay writer, as they usually tend to write about themselves, people and things that affect them on a daily basis. I have decided to write about my life, the necessity of tragedy, and the never-ending search for greater truth. I do not know what the greater truth is, and this has led me to many sleepless nights, because the greater truth will help us live any life better. Regardless of whether we are rich, poor, sad, happy… it allows us to connect to our inner selves and who we really want to be and why we were put on the Earth. I reject most principles of external entities who determine our fate beforehand, as we are the sculptor of our own fate. We figure things out for ourselves, and we pressure ourselves to do better, even if we don’t want to. No deity is controlling us, leading us, or providing the resources to provide ourselves with what we need to become greater people. Only we as humans do this. Time and time again, this has been proven (or disproven by a child who saw heaven amidst death, of all other things) and still, the word “god” is thrown around like a ragdoll. If there is one, then I shall patiently wait for the second coming.

I constantly tell myself that I should challenge my thoughts and feelings, forming a well-rounded belief system that one day can be my personal “greater truth.” The challenging of my pre-existing beliefs allows me to adapt to new situations fairly quickly, and allow me to adopt new ways of thinking, so I can see everything from every angle possible, shedding new light on each subject I come across. Though I like to switch things up sometimes, I also enjoy leaving my views constant about certain things, such as the people in my life. People have been something I have not changed my views about. They are not replaceable as people may make them seem. It is hard to see people as that way. This leads me right into my next point.

Throughout history, the thing that has brought us together is love. It is as natural and as abundant as water. It is a complex emotion that can make you feel strong, it can make you feel weak, it can give you courage, and it can make you fearful. Though it is a jumble of conflicting feelings… it can be one of the best (or worst) feelings known to man. When I say worst, I believe that people associate sadness and hopelessness associated with heartbreak with love. Why do they do this? Maybe because they associate those feelings with someone they loved. They no longer feel the happy feelings. Their spectrum of love diminishes. People believe that they will never feel the same way again. Of course, this is a lie, but it is something to join themselves with the sadness that they ultimately let wash over them. They can’t fight it… nobody can.

I wish I could completely explain what love has done for humanity. I wish I could explain the copious amounts of it I have to give. I wish I could explain how much it hurts to love sometimes. I wish I could explain why I feel this way. I wish I could wish. I wish my wishes would come true. Even though wishes are just believing in things we know won’t happen, it is good to have wishes anyways. Sometimes our wishes are our motivation for becoming our future selves, like I mentioned earlier. You wish to become better, so you do it. This driving force could be treated as an external entity, though it has no real manifestation that actually presents itself in the real world to slap us in the face and tell us to do better. Again, this is another thing that has led to countless sleepless nights, fear and tears on my pillowcase.

Speaking of tears, sometimes I feel like I was left with the duty of communicating my feelings to the world. To present the world with new and relevant ideas, to communicate what suffering is. Once the world can truly understand the relationship between suffering and love, I believe the world can find it within themselves to promote drastic change between its inhabitants… allowing world peace to finally shine. This is a farfetched idea, but at least it is an idea. It should be talked about. There should be no need for a “doomsday clock” in our world. But even in utopia there will always be the possibility of revolution, inequality and separation. This already exists in our world, so I believe we can eventually cope with the loss “like we always do.”

This, of course, relates to the topic of perfection. What is perfection? Has perfection changed throughout the years? I believe perfection varies depending on the type of perfection. Perfection in terms of beauty, intelligence, etc. All in all, it doesn’t exist. There is no such thing as perfection. There never has, never will. We thrive on our flaws too much to think that perfection is even close to existing… so why do we do it? There are a plethora of questions that arise when mentioning perfection. It pains me to know that a concept such as perfection exists. I believe the concept of perfection was invented so we can give the things and people we truly adore another label or category. Plus, doesn’t it have a nice ring to it? “Perfect…”

The concept of perfection is something we associate with love. We want love to be perfect, we believe that love is the most-perfect feeling (when executed correctly, of course). Though I have mentioned it a lot in previous essays, it has been the driving force that has led me to live life the way I do. I revolve around the idea that love can so easily be passed around. With this, I leave myself to continue my usual routine of giving so unconditionally, until (like I’ve said before) I have no more life to live.