In my class on Buddhism, we are talking about reincarnation. I thought I knew what it meant, but it's actually viewed as a negative thing, the kind of thing one strives to rise above. We talked about how American culture values immortality so much, that we think of reincarnation as something good. We have such a shallow view of it all. For example, Laura and I always fight over who said they were a dolphin in a past life first. Or a guy I met at a party who I had a lot in common with, joked we must have been married in a past life. I don't literally believe in past lives, but I've been thinking a lot about my past, which sometimes feels like a different life--or even different lives.
I don't like thinking about my past much, because it usually makes me angry. I put up with a lot of things I shouldn't have. I beat myself up over things and people not worth it; I never fought with my parents, argued with unfair teachers or coaches; I just did everything with a smile. People respected me for that, but they shouldn't have. Now I'm seeing how weak I was. I know it's not worth wondering what would be different if I had been the person I am now then, but it certainly crosses my mind sometimes. Would I have moved across the country to go to college? Would I have the same friends? Would I be more independent, or even a better writer?
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I have two exams, tons of reading, and lots of Spanish homework to be doing, but all I can think about is this essay I'm working on about a bad memory from growing up. It takes over my mind and emotions. I don't like the power words can have over me sometimes. This blog entry is me compromising with myself by letting me write out some of the emotions without getting back into the intense essay that was enough to keep me tossing and turning at 2am even after taking Benodryl (which I am so glad I took, because it eventually took over and let me sleep).
Tossing and turning at night is horrifying for me. Even if it's only for a little bit, it is too similar to my nights of insomnia. It's a time where repressed thoughts gnaw at my stomach, a time when death feels near, a time when I can't escape my own mind.
This entry is not real enough, but I don't think I can dig any deeper when people read this. I used to be so determined to convey truth. I suppose I still am, when it comes to my real writing, but I just don't see the point in working so hard to put myself into words that people will skim, over-think, or blame themselves for. That all seems like a past life. I don't need to make people feel guilty for things they may or may not have done, even if I feel like some may deserve it. That sort of vindication is most definitely new. I think I'm experiencing some sort of rebirth. Is it an upgrade or a downgrade on the scale? I'm not so sure.
