I Am Struggling
Diet D-lite... Everyone has a touch of darkness in them, some more than others.
Mine's more Diet Darkness Lite. I don't get upset, anxious, hysterical, malicious... any feelings of those kind are internalized, filtered, and pushed away, but not necessarily out.
Even-keeled laid back let life come to me don't sweat the small stuff bottle it up zenmaster is more me.
Here, the author dissolves into a cliched What's the point of it all who would really care if I were gone fragment.
I'm lonely more than I let on. It's a struggle to accept, as I never wanted to admit needing another soul. I don't, really. Go away. I don't want to talk about it. I'm fine fake smile.
He can't relate to other people. Maybe he can, but won't take the chance.
What's one more death among the masses? We're programmed to be narcissistic enough to think that our life matters, that it has intrinsic value to the world, that the machine can't operate without my inherent cog-iness. But that's not really true, is it? Life has been going on for centuries, millennia, it won't stop on my account. And if I don't like this machine, if I want to be a cog on a different one, tough luck.
It's so fragile, it could easily be broken.
Are effects meaningless? They won't matter, should I shatter, but do I care enough about my fellow cogs, especially those of a relatively close nature to me, to think about them?
Causes are simple. A steadily draining passion. No love. An exponentially decaying potential with a limit of 0, the point of death. Just think, every parent has the highest hopes for their children. A child, born out of endometrial excrement, has limitless potential. President! Scientist! Astronaut! Doctor! The poor thing's head gets filled with pipe dreams, dreams that far outstrip means and ability, all the while, it's potential is steadily declining. When dreams don't ultimately align with what potential one has left, that leads to woe is me I could have been so much more where did I go wrong depression.
If I were to commit suicide, I my note would simply say "The desperation's gone." Desperation to dream, to aspire for something beyond my potential, desperation to attempt to inspire the world, change it, desperation to find a love that will change my heart, desperation to reach out, grasp something that can keep me connected, grounded, desperation for passions, slowly slipping into banalities, and a simple desperation to continue living a life that I have a stake in.
Exhilaration comes from a lust of some kind. What if the thing that's most exhilarating comes from the idea of floating 11 stories off my balcony to return from whence I came ashes to ashes dust to dust blowing in the wind death is nothing at all.
Life is nothing but stories of desire. Desire to achieve, to succeed, desire to wed, desire to bed, desire to love, desire to never see again, desire to feel something, anything, desire to feel nothing anymore, desire to move, desire to stay, desire to waste away. When the desire to live no more overpowers all other desires...
Ambition can be ugly, in its many forms. But apathy is worse. Sure, no one's getting screwed over betrayed climbed on top of bloodthirsty do whatever it takes to make it. But it's cancer. It starts slowly, hidden in your core, but quickly metastasizes to your eyes, muscles, thoughts. I don't really want to play piano anymore. I can't do anything to help Darfur. I don't really feel like going out tonight. All I want to do all day is spend it in bed.
I don't know what happened. He used to be the top of his class he seemed so happy I never had a clue there was anything wrong I'll miss him oh is that tomorrow I should be able to make it I have a big test the next day but I can make time is she going to be there good I've been looking for a chance to talk to her ....
Other people have just as shitty a time if not more so, what makes you so special to complain you have it good comfortable you don't know what true suffering, true pain, true depression is you're just bitching about your crappy charmed life well take a look at mine that'll pull you off that ledge so fast and make you believe in a capital G God you're not uniquely alone get over your pseudo-intellectually depressed bullshit and try living in the real world that's true courage.
We're all amnesiacs in our own way. It helps us cope with the day to day, forgetting the important and creating other distractions problems vices situations help us avoid the unsolvable, terrifying problems about the universe. Why is life worth living?
Unconsciousness is free to be chosen. But there's time yet, to stave off others'. A belief in others' worth is a faith of a kind, a life whose existence is worth more than mine; is the cost of a life worth nothing at all, but the tears to be raised if that life should fall?
You have to have a little faith in people, she said. There's time to find it, he replied.
Into each life some rain must fall, eyes must do some raining if you're ever going to grow, I am the master of my fate, captain of my soul, there's an iceberg ahead, still time to avoid it...
The story abandoned, with no resolution, no climax, no substance, no point. Sound, fury, signifying nothing.
Mine's more Diet Darkness Lite. I don't get upset, anxious, hysterical, malicious... any feelings of those kind are internalized, filtered, and pushed away, but not necessarily out.
Even-keeled laid back let life come to me don't sweat the small stuff bottle it up zenmaster is more me.
Here, the author dissolves into a cliched What's the point of it all who would really care if I were gone fragment.
I'm lonely more than I let on. It's a struggle to accept, as I never wanted to admit needing another soul. I don't, really. Go away. I don't want to talk about it. I'm fine fake smile.
He can't relate to other people. Maybe he can, but won't take the chance.
What's one more death among the masses? We're programmed to be narcissistic enough to think that our life matters, that it has intrinsic value to the world, that the machine can't operate without my inherent cog-iness. But that's not really true, is it? Life has been going on for centuries, millennia, it won't stop on my account. And if I don't like this machine, if I want to be a cog on a different one, tough luck.
It's so fragile, it could easily be broken.
Are effects meaningless? They won't matter, should I shatter, but do I care enough about my fellow cogs, especially those of a relatively close nature to me, to think about them?
Causes are simple. A steadily draining passion. No love. An exponentially decaying potential with a limit of 0, the point of death. Just think, every parent has the highest hopes for their children. A child, born out of endometrial excrement, has limitless potential. President! Scientist! Astronaut! Doctor! The poor thing's head gets filled with pipe dreams, dreams that far outstrip means and ability, all the while, it's potential is steadily declining. When dreams don't ultimately align with what potential one has left, that leads to woe is me I could have been so much more where did I go wrong depression.
If I were to commit suicide, I my note would simply say "The desperation's gone." Desperation to dream, to aspire for something beyond my potential, desperation to attempt to inspire the world, change it, desperation to find a love that will change my heart, desperation to reach out, grasp something that can keep me connected, grounded, desperation for passions, slowly slipping into banalities, and a simple desperation to continue living a life that I have a stake in.
Exhilaration comes from a lust of some kind. What if the thing that's most exhilarating comes from the idea of floating 11 stories off my balcony to return from whence I came ashes to ashes dust to dust blowing in the wind death is nothing at all.
Life is nothing but stories of desire. Desire to achieve, to succeed, desire to wed, desire to bed, desire to love, desire to never see again, desire to feel something, anything, desire to feel nothing anymore, desire to move, desire to stay, desire to waste away. When the desire to live no more overpowers all other desires...
Ambition can be ugly, in its many forms. But apathy is worse. Sure, no one's getting screwed over betrayed climbed on top of bloodthirsty do whatever it takes to make it. But it's cancer. It starts slowly, hidden in your core, but quickly metastasizes to your eyes, muscles, thoughts. I don't really want to play piano anymore. I can't do anything to help Darfur. I don't really feel like going out tonight. All I want to do all day is spend it in bed.
I don't know what happened. He used to be the top of his class he seemed so happy I never had a clue there was anything wrong I'll miss him oh is that tomorrow I should be able to make it I have a big test the next day but I can make time is she going to be there good I've been looking for a chance to talk to her ....
Other people have just as shitty a time if not more so, what makes you so special to complain you have it good comfortable you don't know what true suffering, true pain, true depression is you're just bitching about your crappy charmed life well take a look at mine that'll pull you off that ledge so fast and make you believe in a capital G God you're not uniquely alone get over your pseudo-intellectually depressed bullshit and try living in the real world that's true courage.
We're all amnesiacs in our own way. It helps us cope with the day to day, forgetting the important and creating other distractions problems vices situations help us avoid the unsolvable, terrifying problems about the universe. Why is life worth living?
Unconsciousness is free to be chosen. But there's time yet, to stave off others'. A belief in others' worth is a faith of a kind, a life whose existence is worth more than mine; is the cost of a life worth nothing at all, but the tears to be raised if that life should fall?
You have to have a little faith in people, she said. There's time to find it, he replied.
Into each life some rain must fall, eyes must do some raining if you're ever going to grow, I am the master of my fate, captain of my soul, there's an iceberg ahead, still time to avoid it...
The story abandoned, with no resolution, no climax, no substance, no point. Sound, fury, signifying nothing.
31-35, M
