Is There a Point?
My disintegration continues apace, it seems. I'm honestly wondering if there's a point to this living, this life, all this busyness that seems to add up to nothing but misery and more busyness. It all feels like a highly unsatisfying cycle where the best you can hope for is to make lemonade out of all the damn lemons life gives you.
Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if it's worth it, or if the best part of things would be to take a sharp exit to get off stage as quickly as possible.
I feel as if the best part of my adult life has been a waste of time, and as if I don't have anything to show for it apart from several failed projects and mental illness. Of course, it may be the mental illness that makes me feel this way but I don't know. In the same way, I know you're not meant to compare your life to anyone else's, but I look around and all I see is happy people, people who seem to know what their purpose in life is and to have found some sort of balance. I look at myself and I feel like I don't belong anywhere, like I kick up a fuss over stupid things, when everybody else seems happy with the same old same old. And I feel like I'm some sort of freak because of this.
It doesn't help that I feel most alone in a crowded room and that over time I've slowly lost most of my friends. This living doesn't seem to do me any good. I feel too caustic, like a stranger among my fellow countrymen, and I have days where I wonder if that's my fault. Should I have done things differently?
I'm so tired of the world, of the way there's no progress, the only changes seem to be bad and while it's heartening to see things like #metoo, they just make me feel guilty for being male. Especially as most of the time I look at my fellow men and I feel nothing that resembles a sense comradeship, looking at both genders, or sexes, or whatever, is like staring at alien species and feeling as if I'm eternally on the outside and wrong. Always, wrong. Eternally in the wrong. It's hard, to sum up, how sick I am of that.
And again, though I don't mean to do anything hasty I must reassure you oh stalwart follower, I wonder if I'm meant to be among the living.
More and more I just want to be alone, to be far away from the rest of the species, free of the worries and anxieties of the modern world. I dream of houses in Highlands, of a place where I can just live in solitude and where it can just be me and a few animals. I'm getting to the point where I hate humanity and honestly, while I don't wish my fellow human beings any harm, I wish there were fewer of us. It might not help anything but it might. In the meantime, I suppose I'll have to settle for screaming, weeping and feeling like I don't have a place in the world. There's no rest for the wicked, after all, and no peace for the good.
Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if it's worth it, or if the best part of things would be to take a sharp exit to get off stage as quickly as possible.
I feel as if the best part of my adult life has been a waste of time, and as if I don't have anything to show for it apart from several failed projects and mental illness. Of course, it may be the mental illness that makes me feel this way but I don't know. In the same way, I know you're not meant to compare your life to anyone else's, but I look around and all I see is happy people, people who seem to know what their purpose in life is and to have found some sort of balance. I look at myself and I feel like I don't belong anywhere, like I kick up a fuss over stupid things, when everybody else seems happy with the same old same old. And I feel like I'm some sort of freak because of this.
It doesn't help that I feel most alone in a crowded room and that over time I've slowly lost most of my friends. This living doesn't seem to do me any good. I feel too caustic, like a stranger among my fellow countrymen, and I have days where I wonder if that's my fault. Should I have done things differently?
I'm so tired of the world, of the way there's no progress, the only changes seem to be bad and while it's heartening to see things like #metoo, they just make me feel guilty for being male. Especially as most of the time I look at my fellow men and I feel nothing that resembles a sense comradeship, looking at both genders, or sexes, or whatever, is like staring at alien species and feeling as if I'm eternally on the outside and wrong. Always, wrong. Eternally in the wrong. It's hard, to sum up, how sick I am of that.
And again, though I don't mean to do anything hasty I must reassure you oh stalwart follower, I wonder if I'm meant to be among the living.
More and more I just want to be alone, to be far away from the rest of the species, free of the worries and anxieties of the modern world. I dream of houses in Highlands, of a place where I can just live in solitude and where it can just be me and a few animals. I'm getting to the point where I hate humanity and honestly, while I don't wish my fellow human beings any harm, I wish there were fewer of us. It might not help anything but it might. In the meantime, I suppose I'll have to settle for screaming, weeping and feeling like I don't have a place in the world. There's no rest for the wicked, after all, and no peace for the good.
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