The Burn Out

The End. There is always an end. Life is no stranger to the end among others.  Life is full of endings, not just its very end, or commonly known as death. I would like to nominate passion as an example. I read from someone's blog - I would love to quote her but I could not find the entry from which I found the statement - it sounded like, "... passion dies when one is taken advantage of or is not given a due dignity." I could not agree more. 

I am a very passionate person. I take my passion very seriously. However, I should have known better. Passion is an extreme version of love. Even in its core, there is that need of regulation, so to keep it stable and constant; so to protect its longevity until its true end. Correct me if I am wrong, certain events would always lead to the end. Perhaps those occasions are life's reminders, if not disciplinary actions. In other words, it is good to be passionate, but it needs to have a degree of restraints. 

Then there is me. Like I have established, I am a very passionate person. However, I forget that part where I need to withhold or to regulate. As I randomly trace my steps on days I ask myself "why," I often came to a conclusion that my abrupt endings before I could even reach the coveted success were due to my tendencies of wasting away. In my case, passion would help itself in becoming my drug, the dangerous kind.

I daresay that the idea of losing oneself to what passionately matters most is completely absurd. Take a look at me. I lost it. I lost those what I always thought were important. I wasted in the name passion. Perhaps this is the part where I am contradicting myself about my supposedly former mission statement, "passion makes perfect." To have those two words in one sentence is a display of a pitfall reality. Passion? Perfect? Really? Pretty much a formula for self-destruction.

Call it self-blame or a mortifying excuse, but I believe that this admission vis-a-vis definition is a kinder way in confessing the truth. Seriously, being taking advantage of somehow is one of the stipulations of my birthright. I am was burned out. And today, I choose not to reduce myself to pity anymore. It is about time.