There are times when I wonder if it's really just the knowledge itself that opens up even more doors to further levels of eternal damnation.

Were we really meant to live in this constantly deteriorating world?

And then there are times when I cry, not out of spite or sorrow, but because I know that I wouldn't trade this life for anything else.

The beginning is simple, probably because of the clean slate. But again, there is only so much room on that particular slate to deal with. Lines and lines become a story, or at least if one was able to interpret literature that surpassed even Ulysses by James Joyce. But as we progress, there's only so much more we can do before it becomes too convoluted. Your stories become intertwined with someone else's.

The drama, the fighting, the pain, the lives.

You slate fills up that you're left with no choice but to overwrite what you've previously written, but that is merely a mask; a facade. It may be hidden for a while, but there will always be that shadow of your past looming over you. You can conceal it, but it never really goes away.

And then it becomes even more cramped. The multimillions of colours and gradients suddenly appear to be just an entire mess that's entirely beyond repair. It's as if your emotions and your thoughts have some how intermingled in a way that seemed like a good idea at first, but has done nothing but ruin the entire image of who you are.

So you dig back down. You can start scraping off the paint of the outer layers, but then you reach an epiphany.

Is it worth it?

If you scrape lightly, nothing's really going to change other than the fact that the small chips on the floor are creating an even larger mess. You dig a little deeper, and you open up old wounds and scars that you previously concealed. But if you dig to the extremes, and even this probably isn't possible, you're right where you started, you've gone back to your canvas, your starting point.

So are you okay with that?

With what you ask?

Well, you have to make your choice, and though I've presented three scenarios, there are actually only two choices.

Would you start over? Or would you step back and realise that though this thing called your life is a mess, it's yours and not anyone else's?

Because basically what I'm saying is that you have to decide who and what you are.

You can start over, pave another path for you, or you can just look at what you have so far and think that even though it's not perfect, you can bathe in its complexity, and accept that fact that it's who you are.