TW: Rabbit hole of existential crisis, paranoia, pain, and despair.
Earlier today, I was hanging out at the local library. I really enjoy going there. Nobody knows me and I don’t know anyone there; no one bothers each other. It’s just a quiet little world full of wonder that’s far away from the scary outside world.
That’s what my life has been as of late though: hiding from the scary “real” world. I still don’t really know why. I’ve just hit a stand-still, a road block, if you will… and I’m not quite sure what to do about it. How do I get over this bump? It kind of feels impossible. My own mind is weighing me down. It feels so heavy and loud all at the same time. The world is screaming, “what’s your purpose?” …and strangely enough, a coworker of mine asked me the same thing. When I said I didn’t know, they said, “well, let’s figure out what it is.” It was weirdly profound.
But lately, I’ve just pondered and accepted that none of us really have a purpose. So what’s the point of really doing anything? We’re just filling time until we die. I know that sounds depressing, but isn’t that the truth? What’s the point of trying? Everything has changed within me. I mean, I could kill myself, but where would I go? I’m too scared to find out. I tried twice in the past, but I didn’t succeed (obviously).
But then there are feelings and emotions. Why do I feel? Why do I have all these feelings? There’s nothing that leads me to the end goal despite me feeling them. I guess I’ve sunk into this super mega-deep, dark and depressing part of my core. More than normal in this bizarre-spacey kind of way. Things just don’t feel as significant as I used to make them out to be.
It just feels like my whole life has been completely pointless. Every thought is, “why bother?” So one would think I’m fearless in that regard, but I’m still terrified and I can’t logically explain that fear since I barely understand it myself. Does anything I do even matter? And if it does, isn’t it too late to make an impression in anything I do? Music, writing a blog, poetry, songs, a book… what’s the point? There’s billions of books out there anyway, why would mine stand out?
I guess my life has just lost more direction. I’m afraid to live and I’m afraid to die. So how do I cope during the in-between? Is what I’m saying coping? Is writing and singing and listening to music coping? Why does everything seem to hurt? Why are relationships so difficult for me? Are we all in pain? Are we all broken? What do I do? Why is the in-between so endlessly difficult? Failure doesn’t feel like an option, so I remain still. But I supposed staying frozen in a moving world could count as failure. Am I failing the world around me? Have I failed myself?
I wasn’t asked to be brought into this world, but here I am. I was wired and programmed in a strange way, too. I just question this reality so often that it torments me slowly. I feel I’m running out of time. What is time anyway? A man-made concept, really. A way to dictate and control our lives. So where do I find my place in this life? Where do I even belong?
My mind is already overloaded now. I wish I could shut it off.
I don’t know if I’ve truly cracked the code on the point of life, or if I’m just completely insane, paranoid, and cynical. The world is rampant and chaotic and people are being attacked and murdered by lunatics with guns, and there are wars and malice in all sizes everywhere… and here I am worried about own sad existence. What about those who unfairly died? Did they feel the same as me?
My heart and soul are both so heavy and tired. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Nothing makes sense. I wish I could fall asleep and wake up with a more positive and profound perspective on life. I wish I could enjoy life without the intrusive thoughts ruining my mind.
Are we all afraid?
I’m often asked why I don’t want children… well, this whole post is my long answer. I’d show them this if I was asked right now and they’d shut right up, I’m sure. But the short answer? I don’t want to bring another soul into a world full of pain and nothingness. There are children that are alive that need a loving family. I couldn’t adopt anyway though. The adoption agency would do a background check and find out I’m mentally unstable and declare me unfit for parenthood. It’s okay though, I don’t really care anyway.
I just don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I’m just existing for the sake of existing, and for others. It’s sad, really. At the start of the day and when I shut my eyes at night, I realize I’m just so incredibly disconnected with my reality and existence… what does this mean for me and for everything else that surrounds me? I don’t know. I sure as hell wish I did though.
I don’t think I was “destined” for a constant state of content-happiness. I know not everyone is always happy, but I also know the normal/average person isn’t always this down. I try to isolate that part of myself when I’m around others. But when I’m on my own and writing or whatever, that’s when the dark part of me creeps in. I’m familiar with it. I’ve gotten so used to its abusive ways, it just feels like home now. It’s my little home where I don’t really invite others into. I don’t want to leave an ugly stain on their souls.
I hope one day I can clean out the cobwebs in my heart and soul and feel something more than this. There’s got to be more to life than this… right?
Will I truly ever find my way amongst the constant state of never knowing if there’s a point to all and any of this?
I hope one day I can accept reality for what it is, and finally enjoy the sun that shines on me.
I hope one day I can replace isolation for freedom.
I hope one day I can break the chains of fear that hold me down tightly in the dark.
I hope one day I can open my eyes and breathe in deep, knowing my soul is finally full and whole.
Let me heal.