In a little over a week I will be dead. I will cease to be, and everything good and bad, beautiful and ugly will dissapear and become nothing. I will surrender myself to nothingness and reject every future opportunity, all possible and certain love, every new friendship and every moment of laughter and happiness. I won't ever again read a book that changes me or see that perfect movie that pauses life for a couple of hours. I won't ever paint that masterpiece that will be remembered and studied eternally. I won't enjoy the process of painting ever again, the struggle, the flow, the sudden brilliant revelation. I won't look at a painting that inspires me creatively and simultaneously gives me a deeper emotional understanding of the beauty and complexity of life.
All this will die with me. But you know what else will die? The laying in bed for weeks because I hate myself so much that even looking at another person will make that hatred grow. My fucked up brain chemistry that either makes me feel like a demigod, destroying my reputation and relationships in its wake, or feeling like an empty shell of a man that does not deserve even basic human empathy. And in an attempt to regulate this chemistry I will feel tired and drained constantly, and I will sleep most of my days away.
The realization I have come to after years of this dichotomy is that the sadness and emptiness of my life will never really go away, and it will ultimately destroy me anyway. The truth is that I am a fundamentally broken person who will never fit in, and who is ultimately unlovable. I will never really be able to love another person because I am unable to love myself. I can't fix what is broken in me, and I don't have the strength to keep on trying.
Some may call all of this self pity, and maybe they're right, but I don't think so. I don't feel pity for myself, I feel disgust, hatred, shame and I feel the hopeless inability to love myself. I never asked for this. Life for me has ultimately been a burden for everyone around me and it will keep being that way whatever I might do. The tragic paradox of course is that I will be an immense burden for my family when I die too. Do I keep living this life in suffering, or do I end it only to give this suffering over to them, and grief for years to come. I don't really think this question has an answer. I know my death will affect them, and I know I am lying to myself by saying otherwise. But this fucking suffering has to end, and I hope in time they will understand my choice. It may take many years, or it may never happen. I just pray they don't think it's in any way their fault, because it isn't and it never has been. I really am a very lucky person in so many regards. I have such an amazing family, and I was born in a progressive first-world country with so much opportunity in my life. But I am broken, and I always will be.
sorry for the rant, I just hope you might appreciate me sharing this
All this will die with me. But you know what else will die? The laying in bed for weeks because I hate myself so much that even looking at another person will make that hatred grow. My fucked up brain chemistry that either makes me feel like a demigod, destroying my reputation and relationships in its wake, or feeling like an empty shell of a man that does not deserve even basic human empathy. And in an attempt to regulate this chemistry I will feel tired and drained constantly, and I will sleep most of my days away.
The realization I have come to after years of this dichotomy is that the sadness and emptiness of my life will never really go away, and it will ultimately destroy me anyway. The truth is that I am a fundamentally broken person who will never fit in, and who is ultimately unlovable. I will never really be able to love another person because I am unable to love myself. I can't fix what is broken in me, and I don't have the strength to keep on trying.
Some may call all of this self pity, and maybe they're right, but I don't think so. I don't feel pity for myself, I feel disgust, hatred, shame and I feel the hopeless inability to love myself. I never asked for this. Life for me has ultimately been a burden for everyone around me and it will keep being that way whatever I might do. The tragic paradox of course is that I will be an immense burden for my family when I die too. Do I keep living this life in suffering, or do I end it only to give this suffering over to them, and grief for years to come. I don't really think this question has an answer. I know my death will affect them, and I know I am lying to myself by saying otherwise. But this fucking suffering has to end, and I hope in time they will understand my choice. It may take many years, or it may never happen. I just pray they don't think it's in any way their fault, because it isn't and it never has been. I really am a very lucky person in so many regards. I have such an amazing family, and I was born in a progressive first-world country with so much opportunity in my life. But I am broken, and I always will be.
sorry for the rant, I just hope you might appreciate me sharing this
