I believe in the possibility of life being meaningful, worthwhile, positive. I once felt that way about my own life. I see others living the kind of life I want. Of course you can never tell from the outside, and the grass always seems greener on the other side of the tree. But they seem content. By which I mean; not caught in a constant loop of longing and despair. Not consumed by loneliness, regret, depression. Actively engaged with life, with the world. Pursuing plans, learning, growing, becoming better as people. Functioning far above the minimum necessary for survival.
What I struggle with is that, feeling convinced that I can’t be that kind of person or live that kind of life, this world seems at best empty and at worst unbearable. I have nothing significant to work towards. Nothing worth suffering for. Nothing to cling on to that makes the pain seem “ok”. No comfort, no solace. Nothing to shield my mind from the bleakness of reality. All of the negatives of life, few of the positives.
And that’s hard to exist with, day-in, day-out. Without numbing it, or blocking it out, or doing any number of other self-destructive behaviours. There’s no peace here for me. This world is not “ok”, and nothing in my life can make that “ok”, and so it seems I’ll never be “ok”. And the awareness of that constantly stalks me, and overwhelms me when I’m too tired to run from it anymore.
And that’s the existence I’ve created for myself, that I’m choosing to continue because of some mix of fear, guilt, and attachment. And it’s probably only going to get worse as I age. But one day it will be over. And perhaps in the future, people like me won’t exist. That’s kind of all I can hope for at this point. Less pointless misery for people who aren’t me. And I’m a selfish arsehole, so that doesn’t get me very far.
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I could not be more sitting in the middle, halfway between destruction and hope. A few days ago I started trying to write a piece about what keeps me going, it sits as a draft, two paragraphs, not even close to done.
because it’s taking everything I have, all the tricks and strategies in my toolbox to keep me from giving up, and even then I’m just going through the motions. It would take so pathetically little to revive me, so little, just a breath of good news, but day after day without it……… and I can’t take it for myself.
So I relate to the longing, seeing stuff work for others and wondering why it looks so easy for them. Wish I had answers.
I hope you get that break or bit of good news. From what I remember from your posts, you seem like someone who still has a lot of potential for meaningful living, potentially undermined by aspects of mental illness/neurochemical factors.
Personally, I’m a long way from even the possibility of actual hope. I question why I’m still here on a daily basis, and all I can come up with is fear of death, delusional attachment to ideas of a life far beyond my grasp, and guilt at the thought of devastating the lives of those unfortunate enough to care about me.
I’ve effectively given up, yet I’m still clinging on to this hopeless existence. So most of my effort revolves around attempting (usually unsuccessfully) to push myself to make things a little less shitty.
I have no belief in the possibility of things ever working out for me. I don’t even make the effort to pursue anything actually meaningful – it feels so impossible. But I still feel that longing.