Meaningfulness? I can't say I have any idea what that really means. Not especially in the existentialist context anyway. But do I experience moments where I feel inspired? Always. Terrifyingly so, in fact. And the voice at the back of my head whispers incessantly to me in supplication to surrender. To stop trying so damn hard. To stop aspiring so damn romantically. Chances are I'll wind up less than average. I know that. I have been too weak for too long. I've lost too much time. I've wasted too much energy and even as I say this, I'm losing even more and believe me when I say I'm completely spent.

Over the years, this loneliness has only grown more immense and crippling and I'm so tired. And I know, the longer I go through this, the less likely things will get better. It is a hard pill to swallow indeed. Consolations and platitudes no longer seem any different. So I shake them off. They mean well but what they are essentially trying to make me believe is that the world is a fair place.  That all needless suffering and pain will be recompensed eventually. That all stories have happy endings. I refuse even for one second to be convinced of such a thing. Although it is a very comforting thought.

But everytime you hear a success story, there are hundreds and maybe thousands of similar stories with vastly different--and less comforting--endings. There is no denying that. You look at the world and you see all this pain and anguish and dying amidst all these pain and anguish. What could one possibly have done to have deserved such a fate? yet alone millions upon millions of individuals. This world is far from just. It is cruel and capricious. And I don't care how fuzzy it makes you feel inside to believe that there is some karmic justice in the world. Left alone, the world would only get more and more unjust. And that there are people, who are otherwise decent human beings, going around perpetuating this idea that people get what they deserve just makes me sick to my stomach. It negates the urgency of having to fight against all this unfairness and injustice.

And I want so badly to be able to mount an opposition against all these injustices but I can't. I'm too fucking weak. I'm too fucking tired. I'm too fucking lonely to muster up enough strength to go out there and try and make things a little better for the ill-treated and the downtrodden. I want so badly to be the voice for the voiceless and the hero of the helpless. I want people to believe the world is a beautiful place not because it feels good to believe as such, but because that is how the world truly is. And the fact that people lie all the fucking time to themselves and others just so they can relinquish their responsibility to make the world a little more perfect makes me even more weak.

I wish so badly for the strength to combat such evils. But sadly, I'm too crippled by this heartache and it haunts me every fucking day to know that I'm so weak and so powerless but goddamnit I will keep giving, no matter how little I have left, if it means for a chance to finally find the strength to stand up and make something out of myself. And in that alone, I feel meaningful.