I’ve got to press on, regardless of what I think I am or am not.
Because I believe in you, you that is me, you that is you, you that is you in me and you that is me in you.
Thoughts, no matter how repetitious, are individually fleeting, neurochemical flashes.
What is it about the desire to live alone in a new abode that draws my attention?
Why would I want an abode with more than one room?
Today, I don’t want to be myself and that’s perfectly alright.
I don’t have to pretend to be a slug and pour salt on myself to kill me off.
I can not want to be myself anytime anywhere and be happy as if I wanted to be myself if…
If, that is, it gets me to the next place in my thought set.
How is independence not an escape?
I drink several cups of caffeinated beverages to jolt myself to a state of alertness.
Alert to the thought I am thinking in my autonomous system, down at the preconscious level, that best tells me (a la intuition/hunch) what the answer to my question is that I don’t want to know.
The same answer I found when I took off with my parents’ station wagon in fall 1984.
The same answer that is always there in the mirror, the reflective mental wall I am currently bearing my head against, refusing to believe what I see:
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell, my blessing season this in thee!
— Hamlet Act 1, scene 3, 78–82
I am always myself, wherever I am, wherever I see myself.
I pursue goals for which I gain nothing personal, aware, in fact, it might be detrimental to my financial security but cannot do otherwise and remain true to myself.
I know who I am, sharing with my closest friends and relatives my true self.
Will I sacrifice being kind and nice to a few to be my true self, not just in my reflection?
Honesty means loving myself.
I don’t have to be an emotional relationship martyr my whole life.
More notes to self follow…