I don’t know how or why, but this insidious virus of self loathing is running rampant throughout the human species. An epidemic would probably be a better term for it. It specifically afflicts women, so I’ve read, but I’m sure men go through it too. As per Dostyevski’s characters at least, which, I would count, as potentially representative. Potentially.
I don’t know how it’s possible, to love yourself and hate yourself, almost simultaneously. Accepting that life exists in the grey areas, and never solely existing in neither the black nor the white, is frustrating, at best. At worst it makes life more confusing, anxiety causing, and just plain terrible.
If perfection is the ultimate, what are we all doing? Are we all hopelessly flawed and never really getting anywhere real fast? If I’m flawed, and you’re flawed, and two wrongs don’t make a right, and two rights don’t make a wrong either, do two right’s make a left at least? Is there even a such thing as a right? Maybe there’s just a down. Or sideways.
How do we keep on going on when we don’t even know where we are going, except that it’s always and forever going to be grey. Lots of grey. Heather grey, dark grey, smokey grey, ash grey, dim grey.
I want to find the paintbox, at the end of the yellow brick road.
And I will color the world mint green.
With polka dot chevrons.