My morning shower thought:
If you knew when you were going to die, would you live your life any differently right now? If you suspected you had cancer, and there was a good chance that it is cancer, would you go to your appointment to get your death sentence? What would it take for you to live your best life right now?
When you’re living life, you should always be doing something that you want to be doing in that moment in time. Sometimes you hear “do things that future you will thank you for”, but then you would be living in the future.
My question is, why does it seem like i’m waiting for my death sentence to start living my best life? If I knew when I was going to die, if I got a terminal cancer diagnosis, if I knew death was close, i’d do a lot of things differently – i’d quit my job, i’d get a dog, i’d travel, i’d do so much more things that i’m not doing now. But why wait until that death sentence? Why go to that appointment to receive a diagnosis? Shouldn’t we be just living our best life regardless?
I think it is because there are obligations to living life. We need to go to school to work, we need to work to earn money, and we need money to buy the basic necessities in life – and with that, we can save enough so that we won’t need to work when we’re old and retired.
But I think my obligations are changing. I think i’d have lived a great life if it was short but full of adventure, rather than working 40ish years at a desk job only to enjoy the savings when i’m old and frail.
So in which case, I want to live my best life, regardless of if or when the death sentence is. I’m just f*cking tired of living this monotonous life where I am literally a slave to robots. My job is literally to replace the humans on earth with robots. I’m not doing humanity any good.
Eating disorder trigger warning ahead:
And to slightly extend this useless rant, i’ve made myself throw up for 15 consecutive days. More food exits my mouth than the normal end. My binge eating disorder has turned into anorexia nervosa (purge-type) – so i can literally say, that my thoughts are eating me up until nothing is left. Food was my coping mechanism, my happy drug, my medicine. It worked so well that I ate so much food until it hurt. My body craved the happy feeling when I ate. But that happiness is temporary – in fact, it isn’t even quite happiness. It is sort of like zoned-out happiness. But the after-feeling is so difficult. You literally can’t stand yourself. You’re disgusted how you ate so fricking much food. You tell yourself “this was the last time!” but it happens again and again and again. So it turned into restriction. Then bulimia. The bulimia only reinforced the binges, which then turned back into restrictions and purges. And why the purge? Because you can’t get any enjoyment out of food anymore. Just the thought of eating an apple is already too many calories that you don’t deserve and need. So now i’ve ended up with anorexia. And i’m just waiting for the death sentence so I can start living again.
I just can’t believe i’ve dug myself in this huge hole. It’s dark, lonely, and far, far down. I sometimes look up to see the hope. What does hope look like? It’s the circular opening of the hole – it’s far away, but you can sometimes feel a breeze from the outside. The stars are still visible, reminding you that all hope is not lost- just a little light and guidance to show you the way.