I’ve given up on my goals and dreams. So now I can stop dwelling on my future, now I can stop worrying about disappointing someone or worrying about not making it. I can say that I have given up on my goals without it meaning I am not going anywhere. I mean, I am not going anywhere I want, but I at least now have something sustainable. For the last few years I tried hard to work for something, I tried hard to make something of myself, I tried hard to make those around me (even myself) proud. But at a certain point it gets exhausting and I realize that I’ll just quit like I have quit everything else I have ever set out to do. I’m the average nobody. So fuck it that is me now. I am content now. Not happy, somewhat depressed, but content.
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I’ve had these thoughts. What does it matter, being alive? In the end, I just realized that the question is of little consequence to me. I’m just a cog in the wheel. Me wondering at the meaning of life is like a flower questioning its place in a bouquet. There is just no answer. The best I can do is live for myself.