Entry 1

Entry 1

To be honest, I fail to understand myself. At one end of the spectrum, I feel totally in-tuned with myself. Aware of all my biases and whatnots, but at the other end, I sit on the bridge of ambivalence. On this bridge sits me and my reflection… I presume.

At first glance, the reflection is a reflection of a myriad of faces. Faces of how I would envision myself if I was in a state of happiness, because that is what happiness is, a state. Then again, so is every emotion, a state that lasts for a temporary amount of time. Nothing is infinite, not the universe, not a god, nothing. In the end, it will all end, hence giving it meaninglessness. Nihilism? But, the concept is based on contradiction. If everything is finite and results in an end. The end is infinite and the God of all creation. For a god in principle is a conventional representation of fate. And fate leads finality or end. Back to the topic of the reflection. The reflection is a representation of my desire. A desire for success? Legacy? The face is the epitome of greatness in my eyes. The funny thing is, I have never meant this person, yet I assume this is me.

I am stuck in an existential limbo. On one end, I am sympathetic and emotionally fragile. I want to conform to the standards of society and be apart of the crowds that walk the earth. This presents with the false sense of happiness. However, when I spend too much time idly on this side I am confronted by my other end. The empathetic side. The side that is cold, and pragmatic. If it does not benefit me, it is not worth it. Most likely contributed by the frigid nature of the medical practitioner.

Entry end

Perhaps…I am bipolar? There much is clouded by my constant denial of mental sickness. I am a doctor for Christ sake there is no way in hell I could ever be sick. This is what I think. This self-adulation came with the profession as well. A sense of superiority created through my sadistic imitations of a god. A god who held life in one hand, and death in another. Control, something we all want but never can grasp. It is with deep regret I was one of those people. However, let me get this clear, I loved my bipolar nature. For bipolar gave me a sense of identity. With bipolar, I would, in essence, alleviate my solitude. Yes, bipolar gave me a friend I so lacked. However, in front of me was another friend. Tangible, not conceived by the brain. An officer.

"Where were you on the night of the murder," he asks nonchalantly. His cold gaze fixated on my effigy. He knew what he wanted, answers. I appreciated that about his character. Perhaps I appreciated his occupation rather than his personality. After all, the only thing allows for this meeting was our vested interest. I wanted freedom. He wanted the truth.

"Hmm...I was quite busy that night. Was it the night I went out for a smoke, then again, that's every night. That night...I intended to see the girl-" I was cut off without finishing my statement. The officer was really in pursuit of the truth.

"Why did you want to see the girl," he asked for clarification.

"I needed a sense of self-validation. I wanted to feel appreciated and needed. That girl was nothing more than a prostitute, a girl I had sexual relations with. But, she was different. She had this sense of aloofness that attracted me. Her mysterious nature made me what to know more. However, she was closed off from the rest of the world, but me. That gave my life worth for the first time."

When did my life become so worthless? I suppose it began back at the beginning of my independence. September 15th 19xx, I had just finished studying medicine at the University of xx. It marked the day when I first became a functioning member of society. Emancipated from the chains of childhood and adolescence yet still bound by the chains of adulthood. I had the responsibility to care for myself, and that was a challenge. Most people would rejoice been free from their parents. I was no different however, my dilemma came in caring for self.

I did not care about myself. Asked to take care of myself was challenging indeed. In essence, it was like the American education system, impractical yet needed. Similar to how the American education system forces its youth to undergo crippling amounts of debts at the beginning of their so-called independence, impractical yet needed. This was justified and needed. Inflation and the consequences of the meritocratic system known as capitalism lead to this. I am by no means against capitalism. I love capitalism. It was practical and needed. In capitalism, you were rewarded by the amount of effort you put in. Your innovation, your avarice. How could I abhor capitalism, I only abhorred myself. This was the dilemma. How can I fully enjoy my independence when I cannot enjoy my own skin. In order to answer this question, I joined a big medical firm.

The Boris-Johnson Private Hospital was the largest hospital company in the whole country. Employing over 3000 doctors, in over 30 specialties. I belonged to the neurosurgeon branch. The brain always fascinated me. Perhaps because I did not understand how I functioned. Neurosurgery was the study of the brain and how it works. In theory, that would help me understand myself.

"If the girl did not provide you a sense of self-validation, would you have killed her?" The level of seriousness in his tone increased a tenfold. He gaze was piercing and staring deep into my soul

"She couldn't reject me" I replied

"What makes you so sure?" he rebutted

"Because I and she were the same. Lost. Hoping to be found." It was true. The girl was a reflection of my inner being. My desire to be understood. She represented hope. Something I had lost years ago.