About an hour or so ago someone asked me what I wanted out of my life. A simple inquiry which defies a simple reply. As usual, I felt reserved, as I've come to believe that those who know what you value most in life are more apt to deprive you of it; but I got over it. After some delay, however, I formulated an answer to this question, and then I saved it to my hard drive, lest I forget. This is what I wrote:

"I want it to be known that I am not one to leave the world as I've found it. That I make choices, but do not do so cruelly. I want a fair degree of respect. I want to be able to solve problems, and to think clearly. And, I suppose, I want some degree of warmth; something like a trip to the forest at this time of the year. I don't want to speak, but I want others to listen. I don't want to be the tired cliche of this generation: the shut-in who knows of little more than apathy, video games, and The Internet."

Now, I hardly believe that I have escaped the shackles of generational cliche, but I have at least acknowledged this; and in acknowledging this I have accepted some imperfections about myself. Yes, I am apathetic a great deal of the time; however, this is not an apathy that rests as comfortably with me as it does with so many of my peers. The indifference and the learned helplessness runs contrary to my innermost nature.

I want to be a man of genuine class and quality: I want to be dignified, and to know the finer things in life.

How would I describe my innermost nature? I suppose that I'm like a fortress of a person, retreating and fighting at the same time. Deep inside this fortress, however, there must be something worth all this protection; otherwise it's just a pointless, futile struggle to even survive. Sometimes this precious thing appears as just a small point of light, and this I know is the better part of myself. Now the better part of myself is seen within my mind's eye as a small, precious garden. This part of myself must not die, not while my heart still beats, as it is all that I live for. Being--in general--a realist, I cannot deny the dark, horrible aspects of human existence, not even my own. However, if I am to endeavor to be the best person that I can, I must nourish this better part of myself. Oftentimes, problem-solving people like myself pay attention to the flawed and broken things that must be mended more so than the good, useful things that must not atrophy and die. Realists can fall into this trap because they are so repulsed by those who see the world through rose-colored lenses and cannot face the world as it really is. We must not let neither our desires nor our repulsions define our view of the word.

I want to hold on to the good things in life, and make them grow.

Another aspect of my own personality, which I believe has changed, is my personal shame at feeling very lonely sometimes. My desire to reach out and connect to other human beings is simply my way of reality checking. It's not a flaw in my own personality, but a simple truth of human biology. I need at least a minimal degree of socialization or else I drift off into a state of depersonalization like a proverbial Major Tom. Without the stimulation of mirror neurons in my brain, my own self-image begins to dissolve and I cease to be able to locate myself in the universe. The world becomes contained within my mind, and I am the last human being left alive.

I want to be able to locate myself when I need myself.

One of the things that I am obsessed with is mental illness and disorder; as I'm sure you already know. I used to do this because I was convinced that there was something horribly wrong with me, and that all I needed to do was just find out what it was and then I could fix it somehow. However, instead of learning about what was wrong with me, I discovered--quite to my surprise!--all the things that were right with me. In my quest for insanity I discovered my own sanity; for sanity/insanity is not a dichotomy, but a continuum, with insanity merely being a judgment call on the part of a physician. This means that even though I'm a little schizoid, I don't have Schizoid Personality Disorder; and even though I'm more than a little paranoid, I don't have Paranoid Personality Disorder. I am obsessive and compulsive, but I don't have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The disorder-based way of thinking about struggling people is fallacious, especially when it comes to personality disorders. Far too often I have been treated as someone who was mentally ill or disturbed based upon misguided assumptions that never took into account my own personality traits--all that mattered was their own definition of who I should be. So that instead of trying to accept that I will probably always be suspicious, withdrawn, and emotionally inscrutable and just trying to live my life that way, I have been regarded as sick based upon the deep truths of who I really am. Does this mean that I don't believe that some form of self-improvement is necessary? Not at all; I just believe that that it's necessary for all humans. No one alive is so perfect as to be above serious self-reflection and introspection.

I want to be a little less paranoid and obsessive, if at all possible; the schizoid element is just right.

What freaks me out about these disorders is that, since I have many of the thought patterns associated with these extreme psychological imbalances (never call them 'disorders', the people around me will often come to the conclusion that I "have" craziness. I often get these nervous tics, and then I press my fingers on my temples or cover my ears; this is usually in response to an egregious violation of personal space. When I do these things they tell me to "stop doing that crazy thing!" or "I'm not helping you unless you stop being crazy." As if by stopping the motions I'd be stopping the disease (which doesn't even exist anyway). To make matters worse, these are people who I've known all my life; my family. As prejudiced as they are, they know enough about me to know that there's little that's truly malicious or demented in my nature. If these people who had all of 22 years to understand me cannot do so, what hope can I have to ever be trusted enough by those around me to live a truly independent life?

I want to live a truly independent life.

These simple truths are things that I've known my entire life. I've always known that the "outside world" will subjectively interpret me as demented, and if I don't hide away from their view I will not stand a chance; they will take me in, drug me up, and extinguish that bright light deep within. For those with more socially acceptable personality traits, this fear is probably a very alien concept. Perhaps an illuminating analogy will help to enlighten: imagine yourself suddenly being transported back in time to Medieval England. You would find yourself in a society with its own sense of normalcy, sanity and rightness, but having grown up in this society you will have habits and tendencies that would be hard to suppress; that which comes normally to you will seem utterly strange and alien to those who inhabit the new society in which you find yourself. This is exactly how I see myself: as a stranger. It's not as if this means that I see myself as weird, or overly bizarre; if anything, I see myself as being very normal. The world around me, however, is absolutely bonkers.

I want to go to sleep, now, so I guess I'll stop writing.

Dalton.