In Difference

I recently realised that I am largely indifferent, because when given the opportunity to engage in an activity, even one which I have an express interest in, or that is necessary in order to achieve what I have identified as personal goals, I fail to put in the necessary effort, but I am not fazed by this at all.
I feel like I have just stumbled across or unearthed my own ‘true’ nature.

I realise that I have simply been conforming to expectations about the things I should value or care about. I had just about managed to believe my own lies and to get into character long enough to really understand the demands of the role and the nature of the production. Everything I have learnt from the various characters and scenes they appeared in. I have been silently observing all this time, taking in the information, processing and testing the results for myself.

The desire to fit in is just too great. People appear to fear even the possibility of indifference, or the thought of not having an opinion, a ‘passion’, a ‘love’, or something they have always wanted to do.

I believe that the things which have been of any significance to me have only been so due to the environment, and all its accompanying factors that have been forced upon me. My interests exist solely in the interest of existence in my given environment. But it’s too strong a description to call them ‘my own’, as I have no real attachment to them. They are the seeds of dandelions blown in the breeze and captured momentarily. I wear the suit, but never unconscious of the fact that I don’t even believe in clothes, or ties of any sort.

I have slowly grown tired of trying to prove my self-worth through being good at something, or through achievement of any kind. I may not be of any interest to you if I don’t feel inclined to engage in such activities, but it’s of little or no importance. I feel comfortable in the knowledge that I may appear boring or one-dimensional to people, as it’s not my duty to make any favourable impression upon the rest of the world. Impressions matter only as far as job interviews are concerned, unlike ability.

While it may be pleasant to form bonds with people over common interests, it is a false sense of unity, I feel. And if there is one thing that really ‘connects’ us it would paradoxically seem to be the desire to feel some sort of ‘connection’.
So this is my confession to you all. I am tired of playing these games, of trying in vain to assimilate your ways and integrate into your world. It is beyond tedium. For the sake of my own version of sanity, and the energy required to maintain fully-functioning bio-logical equipment, I’d like to quietly opt out of this highly convoluted and contrived waste-of-time-and-energy.
I’m sick to my old molars of feigning consistency, reliability, stability and conviction. I’m a flaky individual and I only ‘care’ if it is rewarding to do so, or to project a convincing interpretation of such a person. You don’t want the truth, but I don’t want to lie to you either. Not because of any romantic sense of duty, or for the sake of honesty, but simply because I have been ground to dust, and yet I am still unable to fit into a square hole. A war of attrition, with the softer skin coming off worse for wear. I have tortured myself; racked my brain, only to reveal that I am in fact a conscientious objector after all.

A restless mind, desperate to find something to latch onto.

My value as a human being isn’t derived from any apparent passion or compassion I may harbour for anything, but regardless of my value, or in spite of my lack of it, I am undeniably here until I die.
I have no value, none to myself, and any value to others will vary greatly, depending on what I have to offer them, how I serve their agendas, or fit into their version of the bigger picture.
The value of human life is as non-existent as its purpose. Of course I could choose to assign value to my own life for similar reasons I might choose to give it purpose, but at present I see no utility in doing so. The realisation that concepts such as ‘meaning’ and ‘value’ are as much properties of objects and things as ‘colour’ is, has been reassuring enough.