something like ambition

I am a fit of mania followed by a pit of despair. I envy truly crazy people. I want to lose all inhibitions. I am always wanting to live more furiously than I am. I feel I have not yet discovered what it is to live, but I am striving, reaching into darkness hoping for handfuls of something that will shine light on my illusions. I want to experience brilliance and violence and excitement. I want to be high on something, anything, all the time. Instead I am often restless, fretful, unfulfilled. A caged animal dying.

My body is not up to the task. For instance, I cannot fly. I cannot stay awake for weeks on end. I must occasionally pause to eat or bathe myself. I cannot scream for even an hour without losing my voice. I want to walk everywhere I go. I want to hear music, every second. I don’t want to shut my eyes, for even a moment. I want to create endlessly. I want to think about and consider everything, large and small. Live and let live.

But I have bills to pay, letters to write, hypochondria to keep in check. Jobs. Pets. All that matters to me is experience, adventure which I fail at procuring to the extent that I crave it. All that matters to me is art, but with a lack of confidence I fail to create it the way my heart requires. All that matters to me is love, but I get lost in the logistics of emotion and desire: where do you procure it, to what extent do you carry it, and how does one keep from being destroyed by passion? Why are we addicted to pleasure? Why doesn’t anyone say what they mean, why don’t we ask questions?

I want what everyone wants. To be happy. Harmless. To live in peace, having everything and nothing. To jump without fear. To step a little closer everyday to the person I imagine I can be. To do good for people, to build relationships that will last lifetimes. To love passionately, openly, honestly, and freely; to be admired, loved, and cared for in return.