I. Me. [The First Quasi-Intellectual Blog]

I am Lexi. Lexi is me. I am the sum of my accomplishments. I am a composite of my experiences. I am simply the most recently-released version of myself. I am not the walrus. The walrus was Paul.

So, what's one to do when one finds oneself in the midst of an identity crisis? Am I in the midst of an identity crisis? What are the technical parameters that define what an identity crisis is and is not? Does one really have one, solid, absolute identity that one must identify to really have a chance at self-awareness and preservation of self? Is it self-centered and egotistical to spend so much time focusing on this concept?

I am Lexi. Lexi is me. I am lost. Was I ever "found"? Did I simply live in a fantasy world for the past few years that precluded me from realizing how lost I was? How can I be lost? Here is my body...solid matter... my fingers are typing this. They're attached to my hand, my hand to my arm, my arm to my torso, and so on and so forth. Voila! I found me.

Perhaps this is a "transitional period." However, that draws me to question from what into what am I transitioning? And isn't existence really one, big transitional period? It is the human condition to be ever-changing, ever-learning, ever-absorbing like a sponge.

I am Lexi. Lexi is me. I am disillusioned. I am disillusioned with humanity. I am soured on what we as humans do to one another. I once saw beauty in abundance. I was naive. I was happily in possession of a pair of those blinders that carriage horses wear; I could view and concentrate upon what was directly in my line of vision, but oblivious as to what was on my left, right, all around. Before my face was beauty, love, happiness, a fairy tale existence; I wasn't concerned with peripheral vision. What is one to do once those blinders are suddenly yanked off? I feel as if I am a newborn, seeing the world in its entirety for the very first time.

I am Lexi. Lexi is me. [I am still not the walrus.] I am a dreamer. I am a lover. I am passionate, fiery, vibrant. I have so much love to give. The love within me bubbles over the meniscus line of my heart til it spills out onto the floor in front of me. For the past few years, there was a storage receptacle to catch all of that overflow. Without that receptacle, I now scurry around desperately seeking another, misplacing the overflow in unworthy vessels, simply to have a vessel at all. But these vessels are not mine. They come to me to receive their self-indulgent fill and want no more. My overflow serves as a temporary ego boost for these vessels, but they do not seek permanence.

I am Lexi. Lexi is me. I am in love with love. I love to love. I am never more content than when I am loving. Giving love unto another gives me self-fulfillment and makes me feel as if I have served my purpose in this world. What IS my purpose in this world? Have I already fulfilled it unbeknownst to me? Have I already affected that one life in the way that I was intended to? And if so, where do I go from here? With my divine goal accomplished, what am I to do with the rest of my time on this earth?

"If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for the Creator, there is no poverty. " - Rainer Maria Rilke

Am I poet enough? Am I currently poet enough? Was I formerly poet enough? Can I ever again recover the piece of myself that was poet enough?

TRUTH:
I used to have a solid sense of what was of importance to me. I read. I read with ferocity. Literature was prey to my hungry mind and heart. Rilke was one of my personal favorites. I learned. I sought knowledge in every experience, person, location. I traveled. I saw England, Wales, New Zealand, Australia, Jamaica, etc. In each country, I was not merely an observer. I sought to make my mark while I was there. I worked with charity. I changed the native perspective of what an American is. This was the case especially in New Zealand and Australia, as I was there directly after we entered into the war with Iraq. I enabled the hatred in the hearts of the individuals I met in these peace-seeking countries to be transformed into an understanding. I have always devoted my life to intellectual pursuits.

Then, enter: the person who became the world.

This person was not for the betterment of the mind or soul, but rather the raping of the present for everything it was worth. This person stood for selfish, unfettered indulgence, with not a care for consequence or the effect it would have upon others. This person masked this side. The exposition of these attitudes was slow and gradual, and therefore slipped past my radar. A symbiotic relationship developed. Symbiosis became co-dependence. Co-dependence resulted in my sacrificing my values, beliefs, priorities, loved ones until I was a shell of my former self and a carbon copy of him.

Then, exit: the person who became the world.

Humans are temporary. We grow, die, change, and become monsters. Never allow one individual, especially your lover to become your world. That is not love. Love is growing side by side; if you feel the growth process come to a halt, your love is unhealthy. One should always be growing, learning, giving. If your lover does not enable and encourage you to do such things, it is for their own selfish reasons. By halting your growth as a person, they are able to feel better about their own growth ceasing long ago.

I will resume my growth and plodding of my own path.
I will read again. I will learn.
I will resume my work with charity.
I will allow my overflow to spill upon those deserving vessels I left dry and wanting for years: my family and friends.
And perhaps in the process, I will finally feel that sense of self that I'd been willingly robbed of.