“his conscience? It is easy to guess the the concept of” conscience” that we here encounter in its highest, almost astonishing, manifestation, has a long history and variety of forms behind it”
And then there was the guilt, and then there was the remorse, and then there was the realization that the decisions you made didn’t really matter as much as you might of thought. Nobody was killed, nobody was injured, nobody really had hurt feelings. Yet still your conscience, like a burning candle in the dark, haunts you, flickering in the darkness of your thoughts. The candle on conscience haunts you, even once the sun rises and the sun challenges the flickering light. The candle flickers your mistakes, your misadventures, your embodiment of bad decisions. There is a candle burning in each of us, and the magic wind of extinguishing doesn’t exactly exist.
That flame you’re haunted with was ignited by your very own brain, that candle was fabricated by the wax of your your experience, that wind is a figment of your imagination. You’ve been lied to, your mind develops an imaginary illuminator of life, and your heart wants nothing more than to understand what the heck ignites that flame in the first place.
I’m staring at my very own candle of conscience right now. It torments me, reminding me of my bad decisions, my months of irrationally thinking, and my moments of playing on my impulses instead of thinking things through and remembering things can hurt you, things are bad for you, and fire is hot. I look at my surroundings and shrug, NY conscience has become a raging inferno instead of a flickering candle, and I’m not sure how to blow it out. Even with a tanker truck and firemen, I’m not sure if ever be comfortable with the heat that exudes.
“find what you love, then let it kill you” Charles Bukowski
I’ve become a creature of impulse. Although there are some things that I’ve always liked and enjoyed, there are things that I’ve denied myself for, well, as long as I can remember. There isn’t a rational reason, except the fact that u have an unreasonable standard that I hold myself to. The world is a dangerous place, and if i decide that I’m going to enjoy a facet of it, somebody is going to be mad about it. Things that make others happy, that I feel I should too, make me want to pull my hair out. My conscience eats at me and I’m a smaller, not as good person because of it. I feel worthless, hopeless, smaller than a gnat and worse than an Un scooped pile of of shit.
Case in point, I enjoy things, things that perhaps incluse calories, things that perhaps cause my ass to get bigger, the kind of stuff that makes me fill out clothes a little bit more than they did before. I tried on pants this morning that I wore this winter and split them in half, I’ve gotten fat. I don’t fit in my pants anymore. I got sad, I got depressed, my conscience told me I was a bad person.
Was I really that bad of a person, or was I really just chasing the person that I truly want to be?? The person I am now is a bit confused, scared, and challenged with the concept of dying old and alone, but only because I realize that “love” only exists in sort of perfect environment for perfect looking people in perfect places. Imperfection, just as me, don’t deserve anything like those perfect people obtain, and my conscience reminds me of that. I hang my head and realize that my love isn’t going to be perfect, and my, conscience tell me that if I would have eaten less and exercised more, I might find the perfect something….
But what does my conscience know? The only reason this has become a big issue is that I know I have to go to the doctor tomorrow… I have to face the scale, the ultimate tool of self worth. I’m positive I’m going to hop on that machine and realize that I am a bad person. I’m terrified, my conscience knows what I’ve been doing, and my conscience also knows my bad decisions. I hang my head and know that I’ll never be able to get back to my “perfect” self. I’m a monster.
My conscience screams, my eyes cry, and my heart is scared.