Gonna be honest in this post and for those of you who cannot take honesty, well…turn around and get the fuck out of here.
I have no clue where the phrase “Doubting Thomas” came from. It seems I should know, I mean after all, my last name is Thomas. But I don’t. I have never bothered to look it up. The reason for this is quite simple really. I have never intended to be one. I did not want to live my life that way. I want to believe. Believe in something…anything. Even myself would do. But the truth of the matter is, lately I am having issues believing anything. I realize that it is a bad thing. I realize this because I know a prime ingredient of hope is belief. It makes me question my sanity too. For the very definition of insanity, is doing the same things over and over again, and expecting different results. While I have not been creating the exact same things each time, for each creation is indeed unique, I have been expecting at some point for someone, someone with the knowledge and power to do something with them, to come along. So what it boils down to is, I have been creating and posting original content, and expecting that some day I will get a different result. I am now questioning not only the sanity of this but the actual chance of it happening.
All of my life I have found myself residing outside of the normal. I have never been normal. I was born that way and I certainly will die that way. I thought that was the universe or fate or destiny, whatever you want to call it. I though it was their way of telling me I was never meant to have a normal life. But lately I have come to realize that an other than normal life, does not equal an extraordinary life. I am beginning to sense that my thinking on the entire matter may have been wrong. Perhaps I was simply meant to be an outcast all my life. A person to be reviled and beat up on. Perhaps I was supposed to be just another piece of trash, that the universal incinerator, will burn some day. Maybe it was never written in the stars or upon the cards, for me to rise above everything and actually accomplish something, of note. Maybe I was simply not destined to become a writer or a musician. It is indeed quite possible, the only purpose I was meant for, was to add two more people to the world. If that is the case, then why has my life not ended? My health is nearly bad enough to take me most of the way, I need but a nudge and I shall be there. Why make me wait?
I find myself doubting the purpose of my existence and wonder if it even matters. I was hoping by this point in time there would be some sign, any sign, that I was going down the right path. Pursuing the right things. Now I am filled with doubt and I find my hope, beginning to wither and die, upon the vine of life. What is to become of me?