This is a pretty old, standard gripe that most people on this site have, but I have it too so I’ll post about it anyway. My list of reasons to live is small at best, perhaps even nonexistent.
I have no aim, no prospects, no hopes, no dreams, no desires. I’m a misanthrope, worthless, stupid, weak, and an overall waste of space.
Everything has passed me by, and I am left behind without a place in the world. Nothing interests me. I have no motivation. Every morning, I pray to die.
I cannot connect to my surroundings, everyone and everything seems like an illusion. People’s concerns, people’s life stories, it’s all meaningless to me. It’s like being trapped in some virtual reality where everything seems…off. You can’t quite place your finger on it, but things seem written, like all your interactions are with scripted NPC’s created by a 5 year old.
These days more then ever, I question what lies in my own heart. Is there anything worthwhile in there, or was it all just a waste of time?
Today I was working — I like to go to a quiet place during the midday, if I have independent work to do. I saw one of my co-workers, a Muslim, was already there, praying. He was standing there in the dark (the room was not well lit), murmuring to himself and kneeling occasionally. I watched him, and just felt so strange. He was this slightly fat, middle-aged man, probably 10-20 years older then me, and he looked so tired and worn out…and so serious. Like he had some real meaning in his life, in that moment.
Watching him made me feel empty. Perhaps that’s the kind of faith someone needs to make it through to middle age? I don’t know.
I’ve been at the top of the world, and I’ve been at the bottom. I’ve lost to useless people, and I’ve beaten some of the best people, at various things that I’ve put my mind and body to, at various stages of my life. Competition loses it’s meaning when there’s no end goal. Maybe if someone robbed me, or shot me, or there was some sort of conflict, I would feel alive, and motivated again. But right now, there’s no reason to even get out of bed.
I don’t know. At some point during my childhood, I was convinced that independence was the key to finding happiness. I didn’t realize that people changed so much. Maybe as an independent child, I would have been happy. But “growing up” is a really heartbreaking thing. Things keep changing, and changing, and changing, until there’s no reason to hold onto anything anymore.
I’m good at X? So what? Soon X will be meaningless. Soon I’ll be bad at X, if I grow older, or if I stop practicing. And if I spend all my time practicing, then X is just an escape, a diversion. So why practice?
I used to think it was important to be strong. But now it’s not so clear. Nothing is clear.