I’ve hardly lived life at all (19 years). And yet I find myself feeling cheated.
I honestly believed, whole-heartedly, as an adolesent, that there was something concrete out there that was meant to save me from my restless discontent. To purge me, and teach me. Naturally, it wasn’t, it didn’t, and I had to save and teach myself. I’ve been doing a poor job…
I don’t see the point in being ethical. Even to save myself guilt, because I feel guilt already. And anger towards the world. And loathing for myself. I feel in me that there is no happinesss left, but that just doesn’t make sense. And the sad thing is, it has become far from passion. I see things with calm eyes. The images slide through the recievers of my mind for their emotional destruction. I rage and rage inside. But I can’t express anger. I only feel hot. And I swallow it down, without thinking.
Futility is present everywhere. My mind has lost some of its reason. I think thoughts like: “why bother eating; I’ll just get hungry again anyway?” and it sounds laughable. But I feel it deeply. and I mean it. The hours and hours and hours of remaining life are towering over me…smothering me with their potential tedium. And death looms there, behind, where I dare not even attempt to question. Death is a foe I have long feared, despite my efforts to make Him known.
I feel trapped. Trapped in a mind I can’t stand. But unable to make the change towards a better life –or no life– because I am afraid. I am afraid of no-life.
I feel disgusted by other’s good moods and appetites. I get angry at people who are blindly optimistic, not because I want a more quantified happiness for them, but because I envy that the easy way works for them. I find myself bothered by every little sound. Colors seem to either fade away entirly or mock me with their vibrancy. My face looses all hope for feinging symmetry. I want sex, and drugs, and food all the time. But they hardly satisfy. Often, consumption just leaves me hungrier until the frustration of an unsatiable need becomes too much and I shut off. I get sullen and withdrawn.
What can one do to trump futility?
What are ways of achieving a feeling of purpose or meaning or fullfillment?
If my failure thus far has been (and is) victimization at the hands of my own desire for instant gratification, how to I combat the urge to apply this desire to the very problem that has spawned it.
or, if this is too much bullshit — can anyone tell me how to STOP THINKING. I intellectulize everything and its driving me insane. Does anyone know how to heal an over-active crown chakra?
maybe you should harness all of that thinking and conceptualizing and yearning for meaning, etc , by writing a book, or a series of books.
At least begin by deviloping some characters, fleshing them out, and then send them on some interesting adventures
vivid visualizatinos and opinionated diatribes are good traits to have if you’re an author.
U might even make a lot of money like the harry potter lady did.
My way 2 let everything out is to write a poem bout it cause i dont have the time 2 write a book. wat i do is put down a bunch of crappy things in my life and then making into a decently long poem and post it on my AIM away message or something. In your case, i would try writing a auto biography. dont even try 2 make it make sense, but make it all jumbled. i once wrote a story by jumpling a bunch of crap together n i got an ‘A’ on it!
Listen..you’ve got book smarts..maybe too much..I admit many things we say and do won’t make a difference at all..but resistance isn’t futile. Maybe what you do doesn’t matter to others..but it matters to you..do what you do..be it positive, or negative..and do it well..the results don’t matter..the effort, and devotion does.