Nobody’s Fault but Mine.

It is utterly irrational to blame your parents for who you are.

If you do blame your parents for all your suffering, all your trials and tribulations, all you have to do is extend your logic to its ultimate conclusion to see its inherent absurdity. After all, if they are to blame for who you are, then they were just as predestined to be who they are because of your grandparents, and your great-grandparents are to blame for who your grandparents became — and so on and so forth, all the way back to the first form of life, or even the circumstances that brought life to be, or all the way back to the Big Bang, or the quantum fluctuations that made nothing belch up something to begin with.

Alternately, we’re all ultimately responsible for who we are. We may not be able to control what happens to us, we may always have influences of varying intensities, but we always have a choice in how we respond and what we make of ourselves — and please understand that this is coming from someone who has made a cascade of shitty choices.

Even so, I believe in free choice. In free will and personal responsibility.

As far as I can see, for each and every one of us every moment presents a vast spectrum of potential choices ranging from the path of greatest resistance to the path of least resistence, and I think most of us lean toward the path of least resistance on default, chronically overestimating the amount of free will we put forth.

Not everyone starts out from the same point of departure, however, which is precisely why those who echo that whole “just pull yourself up by your bootstraps” bullshit instantly inspire me to punch them in the dick.

Or give them a cunt-punt. I mean, I’m not trying to be sexist here.

We may not be able to manifest the perfect external circumstances, but in the end, its up to us to manage our damage and pursue our passions, refine our talents, find or plow our own paths, or at the very least fashion our perceptions and alter our attitudes.

I still have that child in me that angrily points the finger here or there — anywhere but the self. He arises during intense emotional states, rears his angry little head in dreams. He is a poison in my veins.

He needs to learn. The inner child deserves a better outer adult.

Intellectually, I know the truth, and I need to start taking advantage of it. I need to take responsibility for who I am and invest more of my will in my external life.

Ultimately, I am free. In the end, I am responsible.