Dear Mr. Socrates
Dear Mr. Socrates;
I know that you are dead. And dead isn’t being exactly verbal either. Furthermore, it is clear you will never ever read this letter, primarily because you are dead.
But at this point, I have no idea who to turn to right now. Right inside me, I am so confused and shameful right to the core. And since you are such a legend internationally for your great vast knowledge and famous ability to reason logically. I was hoping by posting this letter you could come up from your decayed load of remains, and provide me with some pointers spiritually on how to deal with my life.
I mean, truthfully, I been making a great mess of myself. I have screwed up my life, screwed up my face (splattered it and scarred it with phenol), and treated someone who is very important to me, badly.
Yes, turning to a dead thousand over century’s dead corpse for advice is utterly pathetic. I admit it, I AM pathetic. In any case you are enraged over me disturbing your eternity long sleep, be honored by the way. I was seriously contemplating whether to write to Zeus instead. But since Zeus was by far only known to be alive in mythology stories and Hercules cartoons in Disney channel, I decided that you are a much better choice.
Besides, I figured out that if you are too busy generating sexual ghostly moans with some nether world banshee (How do you even make love to a banshee, I wonder) to care about me, I could probably turn to Zeus later on. I am such a big Hercules-abs fan that he probably would forgive me for making him the second choice, should he exist, that is.
Oh, how am I supposed to start? Where do I even begin? I have no idea even how start the ball rolling. First there’s my schoolwork. It seems that I have completely lost the sync inside me. No motivation, no perseverance, and no fruitful results. Everyday, I am procrastinating and pushing everything I am suppose to get doing right at the back of my head.
It’s me, you know. I no longer have the rhythm to give my all to everything I do. No matter how I tried to reprimand my own actions. I can’t ever get back the attitude that I was, to work hard and think of no less then that.
Then there’s my constant source of worry, the wound right at the end of my foot. It seems no difference to the day it got infected. And from what I have been researching and reading up on the net, the chance of it getting amputated seems really near.
I read that there are microbial floating bacteria in the air that may get inside and start gnawing my flesh off. I read that there are those icky mutating organisms that might just get immune to all the antibiotics on earth and continue torturing the victim’s life. I read that there’s this flesh-eating bacteria that is able to end your life in 48 hours.
Not that my life is worth living, but I really have so much things to do before ending my life. There’s the first million to earn before 40, there’s the perfect dream house I have been designing since 7, there’s the transparent crystal glass piano that I want to own and play everyday. I also dream of traveling around the world and see the 7 wonders (which include the great barrier reef). Finally, there’s the potential beautiful child inside me waiting to grow and be part of me.
You see, I really really have much to achieve before saying goodbye. Or even worst, be crippled for life.
Oh, and Mr. Socrates, I gotta say I love the silky look of your white beard I saw from the pictures in the net.
And there’s the treating bad issue. I did something deliberately to someone who really cares for me in order to spite, and let myself get even. But in the end, I didn’t feel good at all. Instead, I feel worst. And now, things aren’t the way I want. I really hate and regret deeply myself for doing that, and have no idea how to even bring myself to forgive my own mistakes.
I realized that all that I did was awful and horrible. And every little dissatisfaction or disappointment that I feel all boils down to me, me and me. I was blind to what others feel, and could only drink upon thinking only for myself. I was selfish and rebellious in making things the way I like.
Just because I could, doesn’t mean I should. And just doesn’t mean I feel this way, doesn’t mean I have to let the culprit feel this way as well.
To cut the long story super short, can you just teach me how to forgive myself, correct myself and move on from my mistakes? I don’t like the fact that I am such a headstrong, stubborn girl who’s so ugly right inside. I am practically repulsed by myself. I took a piece of paper just now, and jotted every lil ugliness I see inside me, and it was really a long list. I know humans, by nature all, aren’t perfect. But I think I am like to the most extreme. It really disgust and frightens me at how ugly I am inside.
I think I am sinking into a bout of depression. I feel so shameful and sorry for the hurt I inflicted. It’s now, that I truly understand what’s the meaning behind “Two wrongs doesn’t make one right”. I have like 20 over wrongs, which means, the chances of making it right is 10 times even harder to achieve.
So Mr. Socrates, you being a world greatest philosopher ever in this world. Surely, you would have some way out of my pit of detestable emotional quicksand that’s swallowing me up? I have tried using your renowned Socratic method to face my problems. But instead, the answers I have come up with seemed to give more trouble then help.
I hope I am not asking a lot, but could you just be quicker in coming up answers for me? Unlike you, I don’t have a centuries long, and more, to think and analyze why the butterflies flies or the banshee moans during sex instead of wail. Obviously right now, the above problems are so much more important then banshee’s sexual history.
Cause I don’t have much time, the few nights without a great sleep and swollen eyes is pulling me down. I really don’t think I can think or take it anymore.
I just need some tips, some nod at your benevolent head to show that I am doing something right.
Just in case, I forget saying thanks when I meet you, I shall say my thanks here in advance
Yours Sincerely;
Soh Ziwei Grace
Just a common irritating imperfect mortal
