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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 I get sullen and withdrawn.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?

bleh.