I spent way more time on this than I thought I would. At one point I thought I had something good, but I threw it away. Then I thought I had something great, but after a few days I realized all I was doing was writing down the hundreds of lies I used to tell myself. The ones I recited to get me out of bed in the morning. The ones I recited to keep me from driving into the big sturdy tree I pass on my way home.
They are easy lies. Lies about love, and beauty, and purpose. In the end they are just things to make me feel better, things to take my mind off of how little I cared about life,
or love,
or beauty.
I used to feel this way a lot, and at times the urge to bury my car in that tree was almost too strong.That’s when I put a pen in my hand and a piece of paper on my desk and I wrote about what I thought my life was.
It was slow at first, and there were moments when the lies would creep their way back into my head. But when I shut out the noise and emptied my mind of all that junk, I got down to something real.
What makes life worth living is not some overarching, all encompassing thing.
It’s not hope, or love, or all the other bullshit that people claim their life is about.
Life is not the sum of its parts, it’s the parts themselves.
We go about collecting bits and pieces of time; little fragments that we try to group together to form some non-existent whole. It’s like trying to put together a ten thousand piece puzzle without the image on the front of the box. Its frustrating, but we struggle through it because we think it’s what we are supposed to do, what we need to do.
But what we don’t realize is: each piece, each tiny, insignificant piece, is a work of art.
That time you laughed so hard your ribs hurt for days, that time you thought you’d never stop crying, the time you punched a hole in the wall because she pissed you off, the one day you loved yourself, all those other days when you hate yourself.
Nothing fits together, each piece is jagged glass, but each piece shines just as bright.
In the end I know this won’t convince you that life is worth living. But the more I think about it, I’m not sure it’s my place to convince anyone anything.
Whatever happens from here on out, however long you decide to stay, just know this:
the moment you entered my life
is a masterpiece