Ugh

I wish I could begin my post with a more seasoned eloquence then this, yet stream of conscious syntax illudes me beyond the confines of my inner mind I suppose. For once, as much as I'd like to disregard this depressive reality, I feel the need to post, if for no other reason then to expunge the deamons that lurk within my soul and body at present, driving me to drink gin and desire some form of verbal escapism toward whoever will listen to my thoughts and musings.
I am presently reading the Barak Obama autobiography, Dreams for my father, and I find myself in a purgatory of age, experience, and meaning. It burdens me that I cannot identify with teh plight of my racially-diverse counterparts, and that my upbringing has only privledged (?) me with gender varience that speaks to an adverse dynamic in some situations. This is perhaps augmented by the manilpluational element of such, wherein I do not feel wholly and unabashedly the burdens of my gender in an uncomprimising degree. But I feel as though I lack the foundational understanding of minority involvement in a primarily white, middle classs arena of society; I lack the ability to confidently empathize-verbally, overtly-with a prejudiced dismissal, despite the ability to enact a difference of perspective to a degree that I would consider increasingly deviant to the unconscious norm. I try, as much as possible, to be judged according to my own devices: tattoos, piercings, attire, attitude, confidence. Yet it burdens me that I will never... EVER understand being placed in a position of immediacy of judgement that has nothing to do with my own choices. I want to understand, and my heart aches for those who can't relieve themselves of judgement, and do not have the flexibilty of a bleeding heart and occasional empathy. I ache for them: I ache for calloused remarks and unwarranted comments, I burden myself with thoughts of discrepencies in job placement and rash judgement based on communal emotions. This world is cold and cruel, and Barak is a beacon of hope of a change on so many levels. Reading his book; seeing myself reflected in his prose and perspective, in his mindset toward the world and his introspect... I yearn to meet others with this way of seeing the world. I yearn for company in this cognitive battle between life and afterthought. I yearn for some degree of knowledge that I will never solely exist, alone, with text as my ally, in a world that disregards so much and privledes so little. I hope that my ambitions in future tense lead to meetings of the mind, comfort in company, and solace in few. Or so help me, I will fail to realize my potentiality due to a loneliness that supercedes all rationality and contentness in merely living to get through the day.
Obama, thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you.