But bollocks to those standards, I'm not living or dying for anyone else but me. Selfish? Well, I'm not Mother fucking Teresa. We're all selfish, we live our lives guided by what we think is right by our own estimation. If my expression of it is unorthodox and socially unacceptable and makes people want to lash out and point at me calling me selfish, I could just as quickly hold a mirror up to them.
Yes, looking back at where this arc of my life started, it's uncanny where I've landed at this age, with these circumstances. Given that, I can't say I'd want anything to be different. The past decade has brought distraction after distraction that kept me alive, but none of them panned out, none of them amounted to anything, but they got me to where I am now. Those distractions kept me going for another increment of time because of desire and potential; there were still possibilities then and the desire to explore them.
I've always felt this way about the world, life, and existence, floating existential, metaphysical, post-modern jargon across my eyes, but there was always, "well, maybe I'll think or feel differently if I pursue this path, give this thing a chance". Having pursued those paths and opportunities, I'm satisfied that none of this really matters. If I had left before, I would not have left empty. I needed to be emptied.
Didn't need to wallow in hopelessness and muted desperation. Didn't need to stress about the future. Didn't need crises of confidence in being able to do this. Didn't need to be miserable. Didn't need to extract blood. Didn't need to get rid of all my friends. Didn't need to lose the war with the parents. Didn't need to waste 10 years of my life in San Francisco and a useless law school education. Didn't need bouts with depression, alcoholism and psychosis. I just needed to be emptied. Drain my cup.
