Meaning is what makes life worth living. What makes pain and suffering seem bearable. I have robbed myself of any chance at what I consider to be a meaningful life. Any hope of meaningful relationships, or a future self I can respect. So all I’m left with is the pain and suffering. And although it’s not yet that severe, I don’t know how to bear it. Because I have nothing to console myself with. Nothing to use to tell myself “it’s ok”. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to work towards. There is no positive meaning in my life.
All that is left for me is negative meaning. To avoid causing devastation to my family. To try to avoid the things I fear, like imprisonment, violence or homelessness. And it’s not enough. It’s not enough to motivate me, to get me out of bed in the morning. It’s not a life. It’s not worth living. It would be better if it ended. But I’m too afraid to end it.
So I turn to destructive coping mechanisms, again and again. Anything not to feel it, even for a few short minutes. To escape, however briefly. No matter how much worse it makes the pain afterwards. Because it already feels unbearable, so what if it gets worse? Escape into twisted fantasy, feel the endorphin rush, hate myself a little more, increase the pain, take a pill to send me to sleep, spend the next day exhausted, fail to make anything better, rinse and repeat.
It’s all so stupid and pointless. And I can stand outside of myself, and ask myself “what the fuck are you doing, you moron?” But I can’t break free of the cycle. Because I have no meaning. I have no mental shield, to make reality seem tolerable. And it feels unbearable. I can’t transcend it, or overcome it. There is no sane self within that can overpower my base impulses. I have no guiding light. I’m alone in the dark.