Boredom is death

  July 1st, 2009 by susan5


I haven’t posted here before.  Actually, I feel a bit out of place among all the angst-filled teenagers and people who have real problems and shit like that.  What’s my problem?  Hard to put down in words, I guess, though I spend a lot of time trying to do it.  I’m 33, I’ve lived a comfortable, middle-class life with kind, if emotionally-distant, parents.  Did well enough at school.  Went on to university.  Expected to “achieve” something.  But, really, something was wrong from the start.  I write this, because, I don’t know, maybe there are other people in my situation out there.  But, I don’t know, I seem to have been, virtually since birth, unable to find any kind of joy or direction or purpose in life. 

So what am I doing on this site, you may ask?  I have no crippling emotional pain, no traumas to overcome, I just, with every day, as I wake up, ask myself, what the hell do I have to live for?  And I don’t mean that in the “Oh, what glories do I have to be grateful for?” kind of way.  It’s just, ever since I can remember, I have hated myself, and been bored to distraction with life and everything it has to offer.  And it’s not like I haven’t tried to find something to like–I’ve tried it all, well, inasfar as I’m willing to.  I just think I was born half-dead and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Sure, as a teenager, and later, even now, actually, I’ve gone down the self-destruction route.  Drugs, drinking, underachieving, self-mutilation, bad relationships.  None of it really did anything for me.  Later I tried the self-improvement–higher education, travel, blah, blah, blah.  But I still wake up every morning just hoping that today’s the day that I have enough courage to finally off-myself and be done with this miserable farce of a life I’ve been living.

So, I guess, I’m getting to the end of the line of things.  Drugs, therapy, don’t bother suggesting it, I’ve done it, and, yes, when I’ve been in cataclysmic depressions, they’ve helped me get back to my baseline, but what am i supposed to do when my baseline is so far from anything I want to continue existing at?  I ride the train, every day, and I look at the people sitting and standing around me, and I try to look inside them, and figure out what it is that makes them want to keep on living, and although I can imagine–family, friends, careers, maybe what they’re going to have for dinner–I’m just having a difficult time mustering up the enthusiasm for much more of this pointlessness.  But, until I get a proper backbone, I know I’m not going to be able to kill myself, which makes it all so much more depressing.  Why perpetuate such a useless, unwanted life?

I have a friend who’s going through a real crisis at the moment, and he has, on more than one occasion, invited me to join him in a suicide pact, but I always defer, and end up trying to talk him out of it.  But why?  That’s all I want to know, I guess.  Why should I have to go on living, if life no longer offers anything promising or interesting to me?  If it never did?  Am I the only one who is so tediously bored with this supposedly joyous and wondrous gift of existence that we’ve been granted?   When can I say when? 

That’s all.  It just need to be said.

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