I feel like everyone has a sob story or what some might call a good reason. “I’m insecure” or “I’m depressed” or “I’m abused”. That’s all sad and really painful and I get why you might just want to give up.
The thing with me is: I don’t even have any of that. It was a slow process, but at the same time it happened in the blink of an eye; a rush of clarity for me.
There’s nothing for me here. There never will be. Nothing had to happen to convince me of it, because I think I’ve always known.
Nothing ever feels right. Sure, I try to distract myself, but I still feel the emptiness and I know that it will never truly leave me. I watch TV and I draw sometimes but at the end of the day it’s worth NOTHING. I have nice parents who have always given me whatever I wanted/needed. I have siblings who look up to me. But I feel NOTHING.
I remember when I had to put my cat down, the vet couldn’t find the vein to inject the toxin into. So, naturally, I sat there and watched and commented on how maybe he should try the other leg and wow why isn’t it working? And when the damn thing was finally dead I didn’t care. My whole family looked at me kinda scared because of how nonchalant i was, while my mom and younger brother and sister had cried. I remember thinking “what’s wrong with me?” And then realizing I didn’t care about that either.
I still don’t.
Every day is the same and its just a repetitive mindless cycle that goes on and on. Nothing I do matters and nothing changes. I honestly just want to die because that’s better than living with nothing.
Everything is in your head: emotions, perceptions, pain. It’s only human nature filling in the blanks between controlled movement of molecules. As far as I am concerned, you have no soul and there is nothing past this life, if you can even call it that. You are just an organism trying to make sense of a universe that has no damn sense at all.
I want to slip into a dreamless, eternal slumber and just cease to exist. I will not take my life now, even in all of this emptiness, but I will eventually. One thing I refuse to do is get old and be inhibited from easy movement, one of the only joys of breathing.
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4 comments
I feel you, it’s viscous never ending cycle that makes me dizzy and tired of it all. It really is an abyss of nothing, we came from the beauty of nothing an we will leave into the beauty of nothing. The time in between that’s “something” is just stupid, corrupt, greedy, relentless, and disgustingly horrid. If you want to talk I’m at morenomari1@yahoo.com, id really like to exchange thoughts with you
wow, i think its really mean of you to call abuse, depression, and insecurities “sob stories”
The same for me. I’d rather die young than Live through life’s bullshit that’s going to come my way soon. What’s the point of life? Work your ass off, pay bills, get married heartbreak, bring children in to this fucked up world and lie to them that it’s ok, get old just to not be as physically maybe not mentally competent as your younger self, just to be old and shit yourself? I see no beauty in that and I fucking despise people who do so. I’m sorry but I rather do the earth a favor and take myself out. I can say that I love my would be children more than any parent loves theirs. Why? Because I love them so much that I would not bring them into this world because it’s so atrocious. I love them enough to deny them any entry into life.
Right on (but not so loud) let’s not disturb them in their hamster wheels. Nor wake their dung beetle spawn let them rest well and grown up strong. Soon everything good will be gone the great machine will cough choke sputter and stop. The lights will be off more days than on at schools until their teachers tire of being unpaid one day and class is dismissed for good.
Then the dung beetles will be full grown and summon their might to seek their spot in labor formations at the nearest turd farm. Dad and MILF continue to be utterly useless, scrimping for laundromat day the twinkle in their eye a reflection while watching the was tumble dry as if it were TV like the old days.