Another year gone by, reflected in the mirror of my past. It is not a dividing line that separates me from knowing how I was before, but a mirror of unimaginable proportions. All I can see of myself is from that point – seven years ago today – on. Sometimes I think it’d be easier just to accept that there was no me before then – that I have always been what I can see. Another part of me knows that the possibility of that being a lie is too great not to ask questions of myself. After all, much of him is in me. To deny my previous self is to deny his existence.
Contradictory to the actions of our pacifist idols, the problems found within oneself cannot be eradicated quietly. Like the wars of the past, the battle fought within is full of pain, death, and mourning, but also growth and renewal. However none of this comes about while sitting down. There may be moments when I am brought to my knees, but change only comes about when I am standing tall enough to see past the smoke and pieces of myself that I decide to destroy or let live. I stand in topsoil between the dead crops of my past and the lush garden of my future. Set in the distant horizon lies my goal silhouetted – who I want to be.
As our faith in a god wanes with the dimming twilight, our foundation sinks into darkness and we look not only up, but inward. We ask questions of ourselves that echo throughout human history. These questions are what make us, and are therefore the torture of our existence.
