Oh no.
I’m out.
I need more.
And so I return to where I started, and refuel.
I keep telling myself this will be the last time.
That for one last time I will allow myself this indulgence,
but afterwards,
I will be done with it.
I know it’s bad for me-
I’ve known this for a long time-
and it is reasonable that I’ve made this promise to myself,
to let go of the only thing I thought I needed, or wished I needed because I wanted it so badly.
But I am irrational.
Unable to keep a promise, I return,
refuel,
only to run out again.
Only to realize once more that what I keep refueling my hopes for does not exist,
and there is nothing to be gained in this pointless indulgence,
and imagining, concocting reasons to go back is just hurting me.
This is no better than self-harm,
the kind I know and pretend not to understand,
where people willingly inflict wounds on themselves,
put themselves in vulnerable positions,
allow themselves stupid and unfulfilling indulgences to substitute what they actually need on the basis that they could possibly,
just maybe,
hopelessly,
but still, perhaps, lead to something achieved.
I say I am an insufferable optimist.
And people think it is a good thing,
but…
Optimism keeps you going at something.
Good.
But then there’s hopeless optimism.
Pretending there’s the possibility of a beneficial outcome when you know there is nothing to be found,
saying all will be well when you know you are throwing yourself into the flames
where there can be no hope of achievement.
And an inability to stop yourself doing so,
an inability to escape the reasoning that things will turn out okay even when you know full well they will not-
optimism hurts.
Hope is a villain cloaked by a positive connotation.
He is revered by the same society that suffers by him.
Tyrants know this full well-
it is not by mistake that they continue to invoke fear,
while allowing a little hope into the mix,
just enough to keep the people desperate enough to stay,
to try and make their hopeless society work.
Such optimistic hope never led to anything.
Success came only when societies escaped this hopeless ideal.
And it’s no different when I toss myself into the flames, egged on by my insufferable optimism.
Such optimistic hope can never lead to anything.
Oh no.
I’m out.
I need more.
And so I return to where I started, and refuel my optimism.
I give myself another reason to believe it’s true,
that what I hope for can be achieved despite the overwhelming evidence that it cannot.
Reach for the stars, they say.
Believe in the impossible,
but if the impossible can only be believed by an impossibly hopeful person,
it is clear the pursuit of the impossible will be through impossibly terrible means,
never mind the impossibly terrible results.
Optimism is a silent killer.
Sure, it’s good to be positive,
but we must never forget the lessons of restraint and reason,
of the logic we may view as cold,
but that may be the greatest shelter from the burns optimism inflicts upon unsuspecting souls who dive headfirst into the heat of passion.
Too much time in this cold shelter leads to a frozen heart-
that much is not untrue-
but logic must not be sacrificed for optimism.
Nor should it be the other way around.
I must not, cannot try and forget optimism-
that would be a surrender to the lost and hopeless world.
I need optimism.
But I don’t need quite as much as I think,
and I know for a fact I need other things in addition to it.
A balance, then, to keep our hearts warm but not scalding and hot,
to preserve a little hope while remembering reason,
to not fall victim to the fire or ice but to enjoy the comfort of both, while avoiding the wounds of either.
I need to stop.
I need to quit going back and refueling only my optimism,
for this addiction, this neglect of the essential will kill more painfully than any drug.
But more specifically, I need to quit refueling only my optimism,
to quit viewing this attempt to remain positive as a justification for the suppression of reason,
and rather, to fill both tanks.
Optimism, and reason.
For too long have I tried to run purely off of optimism,
and the void left by reason’s absence has not been satisfied by the surplus of impossible hope I keep feeding it.
Reason is not a fuel that can take any substitute.
Trying to replace it leads to naught but suffering.
Of this, I am sure.
A human cannot function off of one thing alone, no matter how good a thing one thinks it is.
The essential is essential. Reason is essential.
I need to go back, and refill both tanks.
Both of them. Properly.
Then, and only then, will optimism no longer be a drug to me, but a part of my balance.
Then, and only then, will I run smoothly.
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