lxci
Life lover
- Sep 9, 2024
- 34
I'm not sure if this is in the right channel, as I'm not actively suicidal (more so passively). I just want to get my thoughts out there—if you have any advice on how to cope with the following it would be much appreciated.
I'm now recognizing a pattern in myself, this cycle of detachment that I can't seem to break. When it comes to relationships, I constantly find myself bored. It's like I'm running through the motions without any real investment. At the same time, I find myself having meaningless sex just to feel some sort of connection, a brief and shallow interaction that feels like it should fill the void but never does.
For the longest time, I thought I was just incapable of forming meaningful connections. But recently, it hit me—it's not that I can't connect. It's that I'm fucking terrified of getting attached. The moment where most people would start to feel that spark of attachment or love, is exactly when I start pulling away. It's almost an automatic response—either I let the relationship rot on its own, or I cut things off explicitly.
Unfortunately I've already let myself attach to certain things. I didn't run fast enough. Take my cat, for example. The thought of living without him is unbearable. I know that when he dies, it's going to destroy me, and I can't shake that thought. It's gotten to the point where I've become almost obsessive, constantly worrying about his health because I can't stand the idea of losing someone. It's this looming sense of dread that's always there, always reminding me that everything I care about is temporary.
I've never really had to deal with loss before. All of my grandparents are still alive, and I'm especially close with the ones on my mom's side. But they're getting old, and I know that someday soon I'll have to face the reality of losing them. I have no idea how I'll handle that. The thought alone sends me into this spiral where I'm already grieving something that hasn't even happened yet. It's like I'm trying to prepare myself for the inevitable, but I know there's no real way to prepare for something like that.
Time itself is a whole other source of dread. It feels like this unstoppable force that's dragging everything I care about toward its inevitable end. Every minute is just another reminder that everything—every relationship, every attachment—is on borrowed time. That sense of time passing, of things slipping away no matter what you do, is fucking terrifying. It's like watching sand fall through an hourglass, no matter how hard you try to hold on, it just keeps slipping away. I think that's part of why I keep pulling out of relationships before they get too deep. If I detach before things progress, maybe I can convince myself that I'm in control of when it all ends.
This existential dread is always in the background, reminding me that no matter how much I try to avoid it, I can't escape the fact that everything ends.
I'm now recognizing a pattern in myself, this cycle of detachment that I can't seem to break. When it comes to relationships, I constantly find myself bored. It's like I'm running through the motions without any real investment. At the same time, I find myself having meaningless sex just to feel some sort of connection, a brief and shallow interaction that feels like it should fill the void but never does.
For the longest time, I thought I was just incapable of forming meaningful connections. But recently, it hit me—it's not that I can't connect. It's that I'm fucking terrified of getting attached. The moment where most people would start to feel that spark of attachment or love, is exactly when I start pulling away. It's almost an automatic response—either I let the relationship rot on its own, or I cut things off explicitly.
Unfortunately I've already let myself attach to certain things. I didn't run fast enough. Take my cat, for example. The thought of living without him is unbearable. I know that when he dies, it's going to destroy me, and I can't shake that thought. It's gotten to the point where I've become almost obsessive, constantly worrying about his health because I can't stand the idea of losing someone. It's this looming sense of dread that's always there, always reminding me that everything I care about is temporary.
I've never really had to deal with loss before. All of my grandparents are still alive, and I'm especially close with the ones on my mom's side. But they're getting old, and I know that someday soon I'll have to face the reality of losing them. I have no idea how I'll handle that. The thought alone sends me into this spiral where I'm already grieving something that hasn't even happened yet. It's like I'm trying to prepare myself for the inevitable, but I know there's no real way to prepare for something like that.
Time itself is a whole other source of dread. It feels like this unstoppable force that's dragging everything I care about toward its inevitable end. Every minute is just another reminder that everything—every relationship, every attachment—is on borrowed time. That sense of time passing, of things slipping away no matter what you do, is fucking terrifying. It's like watching sand fall through an hourglass, no matter how hard you try to hold on, it just keeps slipping away. I think that's part of why I keep pulling out of relationships before they get too deep. If I detach before things progress, maybe I can convince myself that I'm in control of when it all ends.
This existential dread is always in the background, reminding me that no matter how much I try to avoid it, I can't escape the fact that everything ends.
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