I Hate Myself For Being a Dissapointment
What is the point of living?
- What is the point of living, if you cannot be the shield? If your life, if your soul cannot be the wall to keep away all the evils of the world at bay and at distance from the ones you love?
A few months ago, someone on this site wrote that, should people stop coming to you with their problems, it is only because they have come to believe that you either do not care, or are incapable to help them. In both cases, you have failed as a person and a friend.
And I have failed.
The desire to leave Experience Project behind forever and the urge to stay for the ones I love is in fragile balance. Either choice feels like betrayal.
I am a fool. A pathetic excuse for a living being. I once said that I live to tell stories. And that when I die, my life would be a story worth telling. Worth listening. And right now, this is not the case.
I am not human. Humans bond to each other. You feel the pain of others as if it were your own. You take on that pain and carry it, and in doing so, you save the lives of those people. You grow closer. You understand each other, and this understanding strengthens your bond and it keeps strengthening it to the point where it becomes unbreakable.
But I am not like you. I cannot bond. Like an alien, I stare at you from the outside. I long to reach to you, I stretch my hands toward you, but all I touch is the cold glass of the window. And no matter how hard I hit it, how much I scream, it will never break. And you will never hear my voice.
I am not human. I have no place among you. I see you in the distance, and I feel your pain. But I can never reach you, never make that bond. And all that my hands will ever feel is the cold.
I am not human.
I have no place among you.
My place is out in the cold.
- What is the point of living, if you cannot be the shield? If your life, if your soul cannot be the wall to keep away all the evils of the world at bay and at distance from the ones you love?
A few months ago, someone on this site wrote that, should people stop coming to you with their problems, it is only because they have come to believe that you either do not care, or are incapable to help them. In both cases, you have failed as a person and a friend.
And I have failed.
The desire to leave Experience Project behind forever and the urge to stay for the ones I love is in fragile balance. Either choice feels like betrayal.
I am a fool. A pathetic excuse for a living being. I once said that I live to tell stories. And that when I die, my life would be a story worth telling. Worth listening. And right now, this is not the case.
I am not human. Humans bond to each other. You feel the pain of others as if it were your own. You take on that pain and carry it, and in doing so, you save the lives of those people. You grow closer. You understand each other, and this understanding strengthens your bond and it keeps strengthening it to the point where it becomes unbreakable.
But I am not like you. I cannot bond. Like an alien, I stare at you from the outside. I long to reach to you, I stretch my hands toward you, but all I touch is the cold glass of the window. And no matter how hard I hit it, how much I scream, it will never break. And you will never hear my voice.
I am not human. I have no place among you. I see you in the distance, and I feel your pain. But I can never reach you, never make that bond. And all that my hands will ever feel is the cold.
I am not human.
I have no place among you.
My place is out in the cold.
31-35, M
