Cynic

Cynic

cynic. pessimist. skeptic. disparager. doubter. misanthropist. scoffer. nihilist. naysayer. defeatist.

i have – and always will be – a culmination of these things. i will forever be challenging myself against them, but the truth is i am a slave to genetics. i was born a cynic. and i embrace it. the trouble with knowing you are a cynic is knowing that cynicism must be challenged.

                                    i love being a cynic.

                                                i love dissecting and destroying the subtleties of others.

                                                            i love destroying myself.

                                                                        because it is the only way to understand myself.

what one person calls a cynic, another may call an existentialist, and another may call a revolutionary.

these words, by nature, carry a negative weight. but there is something hidden in the margins of the negative:

                                                                        hope

            see, every negative, pessimistic, cynical thought that creeps into my heart and mind is challenged. i am a conscious being, fully and entirely aware of myself and my existence.                                                                       

[existentialism- a philosophical movement begun in the 19th century that denies that the universe has any intrinsic meaning or purpose. it requires people to take responsibility for their own actions and shape their own destinies.]

and the reality is that there is always a balance of emotions within every human being. (i try to write this with as little narcissism as possible, but i know i sound pretentious at the least.) this balance i’m talking about is a tip of the scale. at one end there is the prying, relentless cynicism, negativity,  and doubt that thrives and eats me alive. at the other, is the attempt to explain why this is unacceptable. and in trying to understand why i cannot live functionally as a cynic, i am filled with hope and confidence and optimism and buoyancy and i breathe in the air of the day and i feel alive.

                                    i guess i’m sick of the cynic being labeled as such a bad thing.

because in my eyes, it is a necessary evil. and i am willing to bet that every single one of us lives with this cynicism in our everyday lives. we see people that we don’t understand and we judge and critique them and try to quantify their lifestyle based on the things we have done.

this

            all

                        seems

                                                so

                                                            abstract

                                                                                    and vague.

let me depart from the abstraction for a moment and get back to myself. albert camus. back again to myself. see, camus was an existentialist with the right idea. he understood that things always came back to the individual’s perspective. and i’m seeing now that it really comes down to my perspective.

                                                            my experience

over the past year i have gone from the highest highs

                                                                                                            to the lowest lows.

and now i am somewhere in between. gathering myself. trying to find the exactness of who (or what) i will become.

                                                            still too fucking vague.

alright, specifics.

whiskey.

            my saving grace.

                                    i drink and then i write and then i think and then i write

                                                            and then i drink some more.

this is the cycle i live in. perhaps because i thought i had the perfect plan. and i had it all set in stone and that my future was set. and my naiveté led me to fall. and when i fell, i drank.

                                                                                                                                    whiskey.  

and all of that was because

                                    there was one person i couldn’t forget.

            one love i couldn’t shake.

                                                one body that i knew inside and out.

                        and the physicality of it all.

                                                            the perfect curves of mine and hers

                                    the perfect sway and rhythm and the resounding cadence                                                                                                 of our beating, pulsing hearts

                        something that i cherished

                                                and felt within myself as the most unspoiled reality

                                                            that any human being could experience.

and the whiskey. and my cynicism. and the last real feeling of hope i’ve felt.

                                    swishing around in my head.

until one day it disappeared. 

                                                                        just like that.

i don’t take full responsibility for my loss. i know it was partially my doing. and that i could have prevented some of it. and i look at where i am now and my opportunity and yadah-yadah-yadah. but for the longest time, or at least since it all happened about a year ago, i have only been focused on what i’ve lost.

                                                that makes me a cynic.

                        but what else makes me a cynic is my ability to realize that i am a cynic.

[cynic - somebody who believes that human actions are insincere and motivated by self-interest.]

i am a human. and my actions are lumped in with the rest of humanity. and therein lies the conundrum. the ongoing revolution of contradiction.

           

                                                                        the paradox of the cynic.

i guess if i distance myself from the label, all i really want to point out is that i don’t live in constant negativity or pessimism. as ridiculous and contradictory as it sounds: i am a hopeful, optimistic, realistic, cynic. and i’ve grown into this person because of this girl. because after things went awry, i realized that living cynically without thinking and understanding my own thoughts will not get me anywhere. and that i have to open my eyes to both sides of the scale. that there is no negative without the positive. and vice versa. to be a cynic, you have to understand how NOT to be a cynic.

                                    and in that, i have become something more.

i have become a part of the

                                                great

                                                            human

                                                                         abstract.

                                                                                                and it feels like i belong.