I’ve always had a problem. My attitude, my view on life; my carelessness, indifference, and faulty commitment. I try to be modest as much as possible but it haunts me. I sometimes feel I get out of hand and tie myself on baseless drivel. I get grounded into something of satisfaction.
I rarely look back in the year to look forward. Delusions, pretenses, and fallacies are all concluded in my head without me actually doing anything. I like to do nothing. And whenever I do do something, it is up to my neurotic tendencies to whether I put effort into it. Maybe I am a textbook example of mental illness and maybe I should see a shrink.
Nevertheless, I am completely okay alone. I just sit here in my chair every day. Never thinking and never showing what I really want to do. Question: What do I want to do? In the short answer- nothing. I am content with my current life and wish for it to not change. But for the sake of my long answer, I would have to reprimand myself for being an idiot because time moves always and only in one direction – forward.
So what do I want to do? Hmph. What a hard question to answer. Well for starters, what am I good at? I’ve always had an imagination. I may be stupid and a loser (and a guy with seemingly low self-esteem) but I’ve always had my creativity to keep me busy. I was never the guy to draw properly though. Artistically, I can go as far as sucking a bag of genitalia and never get better. But I’ve always loved making stories. It keeps me from being lonely.
Not that I don’t have close friends to talk to, but it’s not enough for me. I need to constantly keep myself from breaking down. I fall more times than I rise. I give up more times than I have ever put in effort. So I have to make things up. Make myself feel better than I should be feeling. Maybe that’s what keeps me awake. Anxiety, stress, the fear of the next day.
I am addicted to the feeling of being suppressed and not seeing a way out. I love the feeling of breaking free from rusty chains and cuffs. But that’s not much of a challenge is it? Granted I rarely writhe free from my depressive state but I undermine success, and I feel like I’m getting to the end of the line. I need to break this circle I drew myself. But every time I try, something goes wrong. I forget, I lose, I give up, I cry, I feed myself emotions, I distract myself with games and fun and happy feelings and stupid useless things that I’ll never stop doing.
So what am I worth? As far as my imagination goes, nothing. My creativity brings nothing great to the material world. Or hasn’t yet. Or not going to.
My feeling of apathy is superb. Of course I can feel like a normal human being and am conscious of my problems as noted by this post. But why I am so content with my life, I must ask. I ask myself every day and each day turns more effortless than the previous and it’s getting old. I’m getting old.
I scream, laugh, cry, joke, suppress, make fun in and of every day I live through. And it’s confusing. It’s crude and difficult yet soft and tempting. I drudge myself onwards to another day where I do the same thing. Redundant and meaningless. That’s what my life is. The beginning of every day – a hot shower, a cry for change, and a goal in mind to help keep my mind sturdy and busy. All of it tumbling down as my day goes along, building up garbage like an abandoned planet. As I look towards the sky, I walk. I walk, walk, run, walk with an inconsistent beat. A life commute with unpredictable traffic.
And maybe that’s all I’ll ever wish to be.
So why don’t I just end it.
Or you may ask. Well, for starters, I’ve never been one to agree with the notion of suicide. I understand why people do it because I completely understand why it’s so stupidly easy to question your existence. But I’ve never seen it as the answer in my years of suffering (not many compared to others). If I’m going to die, I may as well experience dying. And who knows, maybe I’ll set my mind on whether or not I accept or deny it. But before that, I’d never advocate wasting potential. Very hypocritical of me I’m sure but I’ve learned to just accept that as my selfishness. If I had one wish, what would it be.
Would it be me trying to live? Give myself salvation and to be part of the world? Or would I rather just become a dirt pile on the side of the road and be swept away by the wind like ashes.
Enough rhetorics though. All I can say is that I’ve always given suicide a thought. It’s always in the back of my head, waiting for its chance to strike out and lash me. But I shan’t because of my pride and blind rage. As long as I keep being me, I will have to just keep waiting. A full circle. A toast before the beginning again. Good morning to you too.
My sin, ladies and gentlemen. My absolute fear – Content.
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