h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

This is a short paper I typed up on my computer in early September (9/6/01, if you want to be precise). It was part of a school project, a part that I never turned in, just replaced with more words. I've been wanting to write another journal entry for a while, but I couldn't think of a topic--too many conflicting emotions about things. That brought to mind this piece.
Another topic I was toying with for a journal entry was that nobody in my life really seemed to understand me. (I guess that's true for all of us, but that doesn't make it any less true.) Maybe this entry will give people more of an idea as to who I really am. I hope it does.

Re-reading it, it would seem that I was sort of depressed at the time I wrote it. Maybe I was. We'll see what you think.

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I do not really know who I am. I have no one to compare myself to, no one whose thoughts and emotions I have experienced and can contrast with my own. I can only write who I think I am and hope that this is the truth.
I am Wes. I am a collection of cells and electrical impulses, no greater or less than the sum of my parts. I have no purpose in life save that which I give myself.
I have emotions, though. They are impulses, but emotions nonetheless. They are fear, anger, joy, longing, jealousy and others. Some emotions other humans experience but I cannot be sure that I do as well. Like love. I cannot be certain that I love anyone or anything.
If you ask me, "Do you love your parents?" I will answer with a "yes". I give the emotion of love the benefit of the doubt, but still the doubt is there. I do not have a strong loving attachment to my parents. Instead of a warm, fuzzy glow there is a detachment in my heart. I view everything coldly, like a tree. There is no glowing tie to my parents and I, but I still feel bound. Somehow, I am attached to everyone I know. Is it love? I have no warm fuzzy glow to compare my emotions to. Perhaps a cold detachment really is love.
Sorrow is the same way. I can rarely bring my feelings beyond the point of "That's too bad." I know that I should care, but somehow I don't. Sorrow and love are my absent dreams.
There are times when I feel happy. When I work on a project that intrigues me or I read a book that captivates me or I play a game that interests me, I feel joy. I am bound up in the moment, not thinking of anything else but the thought of the project, book or game. Disappointment I feel as well. The opposite of joy: the knowledge of a failed test question or a losing game. This is a sinking feeling in my chest, like a long, shallow bowl that collects my thoughts until they overflow and the bowl disappears.
Anger. I feel angry at times, more like a deep frustration than rage. I feel frustrated when I work with people who refuse to understand concepts I try to teach them or when I cannot do a thing I strive to do. Anger is a hot pressure that does not deepen the bowl of depression but somehow makes it more empty.

Beautiful. If you're seeking emotions, you should read Spider Robinson and Robert A. Heinlein. I used to feel a similar detachment inside, but I guess I just decided that I wasn't going to put up with it anymore, and I waded right into the thick of emotions. I guess...It's kind of hard to explain, but maybe all it takes is a willingness to try it or something like that.
Draconium

Cheers,
Vidmaster

Detachment: I'm always afraid--(Afraid is the wrong word. The word I'm looking for shouldn't be associated with fear, but it's the best I could do.)--afraid to be truly a part of something big, though I want to so very much to be. Sometimes I think it's because I'm not good enought to be a real, active member of society, just a person living in the back of a card shop. Other times I think it's because society isn't good enough for me. I think I'll make that into a journal entry.

Another topic that really doesn't need to go anywhere: Why do I bare my soul to strangers on a computer screen instead of people I can physically touch? I think it's because a computer screen is easier to relate to. If it has nothing to say then it won't say it, not look embarrased and blush. If I don't like it, I can turn my back.

I'm starting to get depressed now. I think I'll go and read that "You are loved" message again.

Ex Libris--

I think one reason a screen is easier is simply because it can't interrupt, so you can express yourself fully before anyone gets a chance to jump in and say anything... And if you're misunderstood, you get a fair chance to explain yourself...

Yes, that makes sense. I had to type that essay up on a word processor before I could even show it to other members of my family.

You know, I have the same thing going for me...I'm far more open and vocal towards a computer screen than I am in front of real people. Amy definately has a point. I have a deep voice (as you know) and I'm hard to hear if other people are talking, so people usually don't pay attention to me until they know me (its a catch 22), and just because of our society or something like that, I always get interrupted while I'm talking.