I waste so much time and energy stuck in this loop of despair:
1. Something reminds me of something I feel might make my life worth living.
2. I’m confronted with the reality that those things are beyond my capacity.
3. I feel miserable, and question why I’m not ending my life if it’s not worth living.
4. I remember that I am cripplingly terrified of death.
5. I ponder whether it might be possible to overcome such fears, and if so whether it would be best to do so.
6. I conclude that although it would probably be best for my personal experience if I ceased to exist, it would likely be terrible for my family.
7. I reason that since I have an inherent aversion to suicide, and my suicide seems likely to increase the amount of misery in the world, I probably shouldn’t do it (yet).
8. I try to think of ways to better handle my misery and go on with my day.
There’s this weird state of mind where a part of me is kind of endlessly looking for a justification to convince the rest of me to end it. I don’t want to die. I really don’t. I still look both ways when crossing the road, and I worry about getting ill. And I don’t want to multiply my misery by passing it on to my family.
So I don’t want to kill myself, and I probably shouldn’t kill myself, morally speaking.
But I also don’t know how to live without any positive motivation. My life is not for anything. There’s no goal. There’s nothing that I can tell myself “this is worth suffering for”. I’m never going to have a family of my own, or a partner, or even a close friend. I’m not going to have a meaningful career, or even a pet I care about. I’m not going to make great art, or cure a disease. I’m not going to fight in a war, or devote myself to a religion. My life will be empty and nothingness, until I die.
It’s a weird, unnatural state, to be this disconnected from everything. And a part of my mind constantly rebels. It wants to hope, to dream, and believe that things can be better. And when reality denies that, it wants out. It’s like an animal trapped in a cage, in a cold, sterile, empty cell. And anything would be better than that, even if it’s death.
I don’t want to die. But I also don’t want to live like this. And I also can’t see any other kind of life for me. So I’m kind of stuck in this loop. This isn’t hell – it could be far worse. But it’s also not really living. It’s life with all the meaning stripped out. All of the pain and suffering, none of the fun stuff. Imagine Groundhog Day without the romantic subplot or the happy ending.
And I’m sure I’ll be back in a few days to post more or less the same thing for the hundredth time, once I’ve forgotten what I’ve said.