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I am Mark McLean, and this is me.
I am writing this at night, one of my least favorite times of day, because it is when I can’t stop thinking. I know, “Why would you want to?” Because, simply, I can’t control what I think about, and all the roads lead to one place: existential and introspective questions. I hate asking “Where do we go when we’re done? What am I here for? Why do things happen at all?” The reason I hate it is because I am logical, and scientific, two things that state that we cease to exist when we die and that we are not here for anything, and things happen because of the properties of microscopic particles. Not a very good prospect. I always thought I had no real phobias other than spiders. Now I know better. I have an intense fear of death, more specifically of nonexistence, or the concept of nothing. I guess you could say that I fear nothing. I don’t like trying to sleep because I know that I will be unconscious. Like I have said many times before, I like to know things. I like to know that things are there, what they do, their purpose. I like to know things have meaning. I like what I like and the fact that I like it. It’s simple. If I were to die, I would probably be incredibly terrified before I did. Suicide seems unthinkable, because even bad sensations are sensations. I am a comfort zone guy. I like the inner zone, where things never change and they are comfortable. It’s rather like childhood. As a matter of fact, everything is sort of a comfort zone, except when nothing is there. I realize that it is an irrational fear, and no matter how hard I may try to believe there is life after death, I really can’t. I am a material person stuck in an uncertain sea of material I’m not even sure exists after a hundred years or so. And so as I float in this sea, I try to find anchors, fleeing the sky and its vast unknown, trying to stay surrounded by the somethingness, wanting to belong to something or somebody, and to have them belong to me. Hm. I guess I just figured out why I’m so insecure about not having someone while everyone else seems so okay with it. I like having and knowing and somethings. However, when I don’t know things that I need to know to have something I need to have, I get scared. How do I know what love is? Will it come and go, leaving me behind? I remember everybody that has actually spoken to me as if I mattered. I want to matter. All my life, I wanted to matter to somebody or somebodies. I wanted to have value. I want attention, to have somebody looking at me and for a split second be completely focused on me. Because I know that it feels good to know you are someone. I guess I could say, “Something is good, I fear nothing, and no matter what, I will always want to belong and to matter to people I trust and I like and I regard with respect.” That is what a page of looking at me say. I like to know. I like to find out. I once said, “I don’t care about the knowledge, it’s finding it out that’s the part that matters to me.” I like to know things some people might not want to know, but I can’t understand why they find it repulsive. What do things taste like? What do they smell like? Look like? Feel like? Sound like? Everything is something, and something is nice to know. If this makes any sense at all, I’ve just spilled out my self for all to see.
Yours Forever Searching,
Mark J. McLean
Something is Everything.
 Val Ritz · Mon Nov 23, 2009 @ 04:27am · 0 Comments |
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