What Scares Me Essay

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They are not replaceable as people may make them seem. When I say worst, I believe that people associate sadness and hopelessness associated with heartbreak with love. Maybe because they associate those feelings with someone they loved. Of course, this is a lie, but it is something to join themselves with the sadness that they ultimately let wash over them. I wish I could explain the copious amounts of it I have to give. Sometimes our wishes are our motivation for becoming our future selves, like I mentioned earlier. This driving force could be treated as an external entity, though it has no real manifestation that actually presents itself in the real world to slap us in the face and tell us to do better.

I wish I could explain how much it hurts to love sometimes. Again, this is another thing that has led to countless sleepless nights, fear and tears on my pillowcase.

The great (and sometimes controversial) philosopher Jacques Derrida once said that he was plagued by fear after writing a controversial piece challenging other thinkers or establishing what was known to him as “the truth.” As a writer, a similar fear seems to come over me as I begin to plan an essay or I begin to write. They all follow in a similar path; they connect to my inner thoughts and feelings. the usual psychological concoction to cure me of the plague that had been hindering me my last few years of my life (which, when you think about it, has been a big part of my life).

I have struggled with depression for most of my teenage life. In daily life, I try to repress my feelings and block them out so I can have a normal day and function for those who need me.

Have you already recognized that, in the current cultural climate, if a single disgruntled student were to issue an entirely phony accusation against you -- maybe sexually harassing words or acts in a private meeting that did or did not ever occur -- you could be effectively defenseless?

That, even for an incident that exists only in one student's fevered or diabolical imagination, you would be immediately relieved of your teaching duties and subjected to an investigation by people who might have their own axes to grind, or lack the humility to recognize the narrow compass of their knowledge, or simply not like you or your views or what they now start characterizing as your “weirdness” or “questionable judgment”?

We figure things out for ourselves, and we pressure ourselves to do better, even if we don’t want to.

No deity is controlling us, leading us, or providing the resources to provide ourselves with what we need to become greater people. Time and time again, this has been proven (or disproven by a child who saw heaven amidst death, of all other things) and still, the word “god” is thrown around like a ragdoll.

Speaking of tears, sometimes I feel like I was left with the duty of communicating my feelings to the world. We thrive on our flaws too much to think that perfection is even to existing… There are a plethora of questions that arise when mentioning perfection.

To present the world with new and relevant ideas, to communicate what suffering is. It pains me to know that a concept such as perfection exists.

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