On The Loss of Humanism

1.
I've learned to assume the worst about people. That way, you set yourself up for the disappointment and you assume that the pain will hurt less. You are wrong. In fact, what actually hurts is the fact that you've lost the ability to love --love like a carefree child, with innocence and vulnerability. That's what makes you human. You've, therefore, lost your humanism.

2.
I knew love, once... or at least I think I knew love--a twisted, unrequited love that reminded me of my humanism, of that organ in my chest that refuses to harden, and despite my desire to shrivel up and die, keeps pumping fluids to the part of my brain that forces me to feel things against my will.

I finally made it through the tunnel. People say that you'll look back on your dark moments and laugh, but I won't laugh. Every time I cried, the pain was real. There's nothing funny about the pain that I felt when my "boyfriend" moved away when I was 6, or when I got stood up for the homecoming dance when I was 13, or when so-and-so broke my heart at 23, and another so-and-so at 25. Sure, you come through the tunnel and you rejoice for having survived the breathless moments; yet, you undoubtedly know that on this human journey, you'll have to pass through many more tunnels, and in that passing through, you'll be forced into feeling those horrible feelings all over again...or new horrible feelings.

4.
I'd like to raise my hand to opt out of being human. Is that possible? Surely, some other species must have it easier, right? House cats seem to enjoy their lives quite well. I think I'll be a house cat next time. Or a mountain.

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