LNeikirk

I agree that 22 is young; however, I don't think experience or maturity can be calculated based on age alone. In my opinion, some people can age more in their time alive than others, simply from an excess or lack of particular experiences. That being said, intellectual autonomy is very new to me; not simply because I'm young, but because I never grasped how many strange little rules I was obeying for no good reason until recently. What's the average age of people whose interests are piqued by Ayn Rand's writing? Or is there one?

Well, it's certainly been friendly enough so far. I'm not afraid of anyone, though, regardless of my experience or lack thereof with Objectivism as an applied philosophy. In the end, I'm as familiar with my mind as anyone else is with theirs. You must understand, that I have always felt I had lots to offer. But I didn't feel like the world wanted it; I was under the impression that incompetence and social molasses were the norm, so I slowed and buckled here and there, trimming at my growth like a botanist, trying to fit myself into what I felt was a society that I had no understanding of and no control over. Or at least, I felt that way for some time. I'm not sure when it first started, but somewhere along the line I got the impression that things would be easier for me if I didn't protest, didn't cry out about anything, didn't put any of "myself" on the table to be ridiculed or praised, whatever the result. I'm still trying to figure out why self-destruction was so seductive an idea for such a long time. The depression/suicidal thoughts were the result of an inner rebellion. Every day, saying, "I could be doing more, learning more, challenging myself more," and then not finding the will to do it, expecting the will to act to come to me in some mystic form or revelation; not realizing that as long as I was listening to some disembodied voice, and not my own, I would always be praying or fretting or begging for help, and never get it. Sorry if any of my sentences or thoughts are confusing. Hindsight may be 20/20, but I haven't used my eyes, truly, in a number of years.

I am. As pleading as that first post may have seemed, I meant it with undertones of celebration. I've never felt worthless or helpless; rather, I often betrayed my own abilities and talents in order to smooth things over with people, make it easier for them, even if it were harder at my expense, telling myself it was my responsibility because I had the fortitude to suppress my own light in order to not outshine people around me.

I'm 22. Not sure what the average age is here, but I'd say by human lifespans I'm a young person. Why do you ask?

Thank you very much. The strangest thing is that it doesn't feel as alien as it ought to. I think if it did, I wouldn't be able to comprehend it at all. What bothers me the most, is realizing now just how incredibly strong the sway of self-sacrifice is, here in America, in the 21st Century. Why did this take so long? And how many people feel as helpless and worthless as I did? It's harrowing to conceive.

Hello everyone. I'm brand new here, and sort of new to Objectivism as a practice. ... alright, hell. I can't hold up formality and make a nice little message. I am terrified of the freedom I feel having adopted Ayn Rand's ideas to some degree. I feel like I need someone to tell me it's okay to feel it, even though I know that's morally against what I understand to be rational. Worst of all, I feel desperately lonely. I almost want someone to come along and shut me down, intellectually. Let me try again. The first time I read Atlas Shrugged, I was horrified. I was like the Washington men she writes about; I knew what the truth was, and I was terrified to accept it. I struggled through Galt's speech and at the end of the book, I felt confused and hurt. But somehow I maintained the air I had been maintaining for the last five or six years, and kept on living like I didn't matter, like only the public mattered, like only spiritual ideals mattered. And all of a sudden, after bouts of depression, thoughts of suicide, and feeling literally psychopathic, I just snapped out of it. And waking up in this new world, where I will never permit myself to lie about my intentions or feelings again, I am afraid. I am so afraid and I need just a bit of support while I'm learning to walk. I look back on who I was, and feel revulsion. Literal disgust. I told myself that my morality was the highest and best (a regular Jim Taggart), but underscoring it all was a need to make all achievements lesser than mine by making achievement unimportant, by making the "self" non-existent. I may write more later. It's helping me, to write. Whether anyone responds or not, reads or not. I feel like a child, who has only dreamt of the purity of water, now finding myself in an ocean. I realize, quietly, that I have never know what it felt like to be on the proper side of truth. Can anyone relate to me? I need human relation to this.