Some days, I ask: Is there a reason I was never as good as I "used to be?"

Could it be that I need an excuse to dismiss how much I have fallen behind? To that end, why should I try to justify being incapable?

Nobody can define my capabilities. The only person who should limit me is myself, and that is really only with the intention of improving my mind.

At its core, I feel cursed with intermittent reinforcement. To tell myself that I will be rewarded if I wait long enough. That within every ounce of suffering, I shall then be compensated. Chained, like a dog, to the post of eventual happiness.

I must be willing to lose everything, so that I can gain the willpower to do anything.

The necessary internal strength and courage comes nearly out of nowhere. In every moment of breaking free, I cannot explain how to conjure those driving forces that compel me to seek freedom.

I present a thought that I want to explore the rest of my life trying to answer: Where does determination come from?

Does it take great sacrifice and unconditional love to make someone a determined person? Does it take the greatest pit of despair for us to carve the ladder of hope, of which we climb and realize the power of determination? Does it take the dreaded lottery, of which we call reality, to create a human who has determination intrinsically?

Must it take serendipities and good circumstances to make someone feel capable of achieving anything?

When I experience the best days of my life, I never think about when it will all come crashing down. When you experience happy days, cleanse your mind of any thought pertaining to when that happiness will fade.

Much like how most days feel wasted or mundane; those days are forgettable. Except for the absolutely worst days to feel alive. But, even when life is not constantly good, I do feel all of my doubt and worries accumulating. Within those moments, it becomes hard to envision when a happy day will come.

Yet, with even the burden of darkness lingering over my shoulders, I still cling to the happy days. Thinking of the greatest times I ever had, and how they can be remade and recreated.

Is it an illusion, to believe that happy days can eventually come again? Is it an actuality, to accept that terrible days will persist once more?

I would like to believe that determination allows either fate to be durable. To be livable. To be worth fighting for. To be meaningful.

It takes a sense of purpose, direction, and most importantly, forgiveness, to be determined.

When I wonder how I am not like my former self, I never think about how lazy I have become over the years. Or how I don't care about what I used to be capable of doing.

I think of how I have not forgiven myself.

In truth, I neglect myself of the right to think about myself.

And so... I have made this page.