Suicide has been on my mind lately. It’s acting as this sort of cloud, following me around, waiting for the room to grow quiet, so it can grow stronger. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel ok. Perhaps what it means to live has escaped me. I do everything on autopilot. The stark white walls of my tiny apartment only reflect back the pale enthusiasm that I’m trying so desperately to hold on to. I constantly find myself wondering why we bother here on earth. We are all going to die anyway. In the end, all the judging and scorning, all the laughing, all the embraces, all the running and kicking and screaming; it all just disappears into the air. We hold it all in the black and white film collection that is our memory allowing ourselves to forget that when we die, all those things just disappear.
I’m not sure why I’m here, and I’m not sure why I care, but I just don’t want to live in this world anymore, I just don’t want to live in this shell.