I’m sat in my bed at 25 minutes to midnight, trying to ignore my exhaustion in order to let my thoughts flow freely. I am not suicidal- yet. I don’t doubt that I possibly could be, someday, but for now I simply wish that I was. Sounds ridiculous, right? It makes sense to me. My current viewpoint on life is toxic to me, of that I’m aware, and that is because my mind is brutally honest when it comes to ‘the meaning of life’ and similar topics. My own mortality, along with everyone else’s, is what prevents me from being genuinely happy. I’m all too aware of the fact that every human on this planet, after an indefinite but relatively short lifetime, simply passes away. All the pain, all the happiness, all the passion felt by an individual becomes irrelevant far too quickly. Some would say, including myself, that everything that person did was all for nothing. In 150 years, my entire existence will most likely be entirely irrelevant, nothing but a passing thought. And in 1000 years? I won’t even be known as someone’s great great grandmother. And what about when the world finally comes to its end? Well, every single other human being will join me in being a complete waste of time. Every moment of suffering and pain will have been tolerated for nothing. So, yes, at this moment in time, I am afraid to die. I’m not actively seeking to kill myself, not do I consider myself to be suicidal, but what I do know is that my being here is, in many ways, unfair. I never asked for this, and yet I have to put up with it, because that’s part of being alive. I just don’t know how much longer I can put up with that, which is the reason why I do almost wish I was suicidal. If I was willing to kill myself, I wouldn’t have to put up with this anymore. There are a few things in life that make me happy for a short while- I’m an aspiring actor and I like to call myself a musician- but good things are never meant to last and neither is life. So, answer me this: what’s the point?
Posted at Midnight, June 25th 2016.