furret
segfault
- Mar 20, 2023
- 9
I feel like I'm playing a character.
As though the things that happen to me and around me are not real or actual things, but representations of things. Lately, I've been fixating on the idea that these representations are not symbols of something real, but in actuality only symbols of other symbols. Turtles all the way down.
I'm not sure if there is an actor behind the character anymore. I don't really want to die, I just want to stop existing - to stop playing the character. When I think it, I only mean it for a moment, but the moment is real and recurring.
The option of CTB is always there, a perpetual reminder that the suffering is a choice, optional. That I'm choosing to suffer by not CTB. I can't talk about the despair. The words won't come out whenever I try. It's painful enough that I no longer even want to talk about it, I just want to install a rate limiter on my own capacity to suffer. I can write about it sometimes, but talking is out of the question. I just freeze up. It feels like I'm "out of character" whenever the thought to talk about it comes to my mind. I'm not sure why playing the character is so important, I think it's more fundamental than a desire.
I don't like this character. I don't want to think about sadness or despair. I don't want it to be part of my identity. I want to be the character, but I hate the character. It's not real and it's not me. It's all so full of contradictions and confusing and exhausting. As time goes on I only feel sicker. I fear it's too late, that I've already functionally ceased to be and have become the sickness. I can hardly even separate myself from the character (characters?) anymore. I don't recognize myself. I can't even trust that I actually believe or want the things I say or think I do. I don't know who or what to trust, if not even myself. If I cannot reattach, then I want to detach completely. I feel as though I'm hanging off the edge by a finger, and it seems preferable to cut the finger off rather than try to pull myself back up over the edge by a finger. It hurts too much, and is impossible anyway.
As though the things that happen to me and around me are not real or actual things, but representations of things. Lately, I've been fixating on the idea that these representations are not symbols of something real, but in actuality only symbols of other symbols. Turtles all the way down.
I'm not sure if there is an actor behind the character anymore. I don't really want to die, I just want to stop existing - to stop playing the character. When I think it, I only mean it for a moment, but the moment is real and recurring.
The option of CTB is always there, a perpetual reminder that the suffering is a choice, optional. That I'm choosing to suffer by not CTB. I can't talk about the despair. The words won't come out whenever I try. It's painful enough that I no longer even want to talk about it, I just want to install a rate limiter on my own capacity to suffer. I can write about it sometimes, but talking is out of the question. I just freeze up. It feels like I'm "out of character" whenever the thought to talk about it comes to my mind. I'm not sure why playing the character is so important, I think it's more fundamental than a desire.
I don't like this character. I don't want to think about sadness or despair. I don't want it to be part of my identity. I want to be the character, but I hate the character. It's not real and it's not me. It's all so full of contradictions and confusing and exhausting. As time goes on I only feel sicker. I fear it's too late, that I've already functionally ceased to be and have become the sickness. I can hardly even separate myself from the character (characters?) anymore. I don't recognize myself. I can't even trust that I actually believe or want the things I say or think I do. I don't know who or what to trust, if not even myself. If I cannot reattach, then I want to detach completely. I feel as though I'm hanging off the edge by a finger, and it seems preferable to cut the finger off rather than try to pull myself back up over the edge by a finger. It hurts too much, and is impossible anyway.
