On 7 March 2015 at 12:22 I wrote this article. Ten minutes later, I tried to write a second article to answer the question: who am I? When that failed, I began writing Broken. This article ignited the idea for the 96,000 word macabre memoir that I would write in just two weeks.
Who Am I?
When I was 15 years old I began studying philosophy: Theology, Logic and formal argument, Socratic Method, Psychology, Karl Jung, a complete history of, and Existentialism. While Logic became the backbone of my existence and Theology ends off prejudice (Yes. I studied Theology of all things, to end prejudice), nothing quite helped me identify who I am like Existentialism: the study of why we exist.
I’m not doing this for you. I have too much Ayn Rand in me to ever write for others. I’m doing this for me. Because, for the first time in twenty years, I don’t know who I am anymore. And I can’t find me.
I was recently challenged with the question, “why do I exist”. I like to think I put up a hell of an argument, though he may disagree. In all honesty, it’s a question I haven’t stopped thinking about since. I knew the answer once.
I exist to conquer Death. Death has it in for me and I for Him. We never quite learned how to get along. I think He’s determined to take me. I, on the other hand, have different plans. So I run from Him. I hide. We’re waiting it out to see who wins.
But, I live knowing He will win and some day He will defeat me. For me, there is no after life. There is no second chance. It’s why I live life to the fullest now. It’s why I smile and laugh and love and live as deeply as I know how because this…this is all we have. Every choice I make is with this in mind that this life right here, right now, is all I’ve got. And I could never live with myself if I squandered this. Yes. This mind set has shaped my morals and ethics, but that is for another time.
It isn’t fear of Death that keeps me running, certainly not fear of the End. It is simply fear of being forgotten. I am terrified I won’t be remembered. For if we are not remembered, what lives have we truly lived? I can’t help but think about this. This fear drives me in every choice I make. So many people like to say their children are their legacy, but how many of us can recall the names of our Great Great-grandparents?
Let’s face it. Your legacy will forget you. And in three generations, they won’t even know that their dislike for mixing foods came from you, which came from a long line of grandfather’s who didn’t like mixing their peas with carrots (I mean really why would you do that!? Green and orange don’t mix!) or that their incessant impulse to lie stems from a multi-generation legacy they never knew. I have dedicated my life to the truth to compensate for the generation of Liars I have stemmed from. If there is one truth I am certain of in me, I do not lie. There’s been enough falsified records throughout human history. I refuse to contribute to that.
We strive to record our history books so that we will know where we came from and so we can learn from our past. *laughs* We never learn. I have studied more than six thousand years of human history. All I see is the human race making the same damn mistakes over and over again.
- Rule – You don’t burn the books
- Rule – You don’t destroy the art work
Hopefully, we will try to remember that when next we imperialize a nation. After six thousand years, you’d think we’d learn that lesson.
So back to my point. Why do I exist? I don’t live to preserve the human race or contribute to our culture. I don’t exist to please a deity who may or may not approve of my choices so that I may have a chance at an after life or a happy ending. I exist to be remembered. I write so that I may be remembered. I wish to say to the world, “I am someone worth remembering because I am. And what about me is worth remembering? Well, that’s my story now, isn’t it?
