It is pouring rain. Regardless, I am taking a walk around my college campus; it is a ideal setting in which to think- and smoke.
The semester ends in a few days, and I have resolved to abandon my periodic smoking upon returning home. Were they to learn that I had acquired the habit, my parents would be disappointed. So would my friends, most of whom still attend my own high school--some even middle school. I picked up the vice enveloped in a downcast mindset. For most of my teenage years, I have been idealising a young death regardless.
Tonight, life seems a bit more worthwhile. There is certainly content to be found in living; one that exists in a permanent state. This content is permenant. It is not only hiatuses, which divide recurring bouts of depression.
How to find this content? Instances of it can be found occasionally, in sublime moments of humanism, creative immersion, and introspection. Such ephemeral spells turn up when consoling a lover, benefiting a stranger, writing a melody, and meditating to achieve self realisation. But all things pass.
I suspected that the source of circumventing psychological burdens was subconscious. Revealing the cause of insecurity and irritation might be the result of careful excavation of personal history. And so, I took to studying society, psychology, and even mysticism and spirituality.
But none of these fields are cure-alls. Mine is a personal pursuit, and it must remain that way. Perhaps, some day, I will understand others through my self-awareness.