During the past week, I’ve been thinking. Retracing my life, if you will. I’ve been trying to find the point where my fate was sealed. At some point, my life was launched on an inescapable trajectory of misery, and now all I can do is run out the thread.
When I was little, I was a bully magnet. Yeah yeah, same old fucking story, about the little fat ***** who didn’t have the balls to stand up for himself. That was me. Childhood was rough. Didn’t have many friends. But at some point, I decided to change. I decided to become an asshole. If I didn’t give a fuck, then their derision couldn’t touch me. To quote from Tourette’s guy “The last time I gave a shit, I got fucked.” The profundity of that seemingly humorous statement is shocking. Anyway, the malice and hatred of my new persona got grafted onto my soul like some malignant tumor. The nice, shy, sweet kid that was me was consumed by my new angry, sullen, dead persona. I did what I had to do to survive. I evolved. I blocked out the bullying and became a new person, someone who didn’t give a fuck. It worked, for a while. I got muscular. I started playing football and lacrosse and hockey and I derived a disturbing amount of pleasure from punching and ramming and tackling the other players on the field. But the new me was incapable of making any true friends. I didn’t care, I really didn’t care. People’s problems don’t interest me. I don’t derive any pleasure from mundane activities like going to movies. I like to drink, and I like to beat the shit out of people in sports. That’s about it. I am completely and irretrievably alone on this planet.
I believe that suicide is something beautiful. The fact that a human can overcome their most basic survival instincts is something indescribably beautiful to me. Organisms are like wind up toys. Our purpose is reproduction. Some people derive pleasure from this activity. But some people cannot find happiness on this planet. There are some psychological scars that cannot be healed. This person that I have become, he is incapable of love. He is incapable of compassion. He is incapable of happiness. My only hope is that, maybe, I have the courage to transcend this fucking flesh prison and overcome the animalistic instincts encoded in my DNA. Hopefully, I can cut my dying soul free from its bloody clothes.
1 comment
You can always just turn back to who you really are if you hate who you’ve become so much D:
Just get with people who are actually cool and not so judgemental. If you don’t like who you are then that means you have the opportunity to at least change yourself. You can abandon the people and the things that remind you of your “persona” and you can start over again. It’ll be hard but you can change yourself gradually and you’ll probably be happier that way. The very fact that you say “he” is incapable of compassion and “he” is incapable of love only proves that you *are* capable of those things because you notice the love and compassion you aren’t feeling.