Sometimes I feel suicidal. What is the point of my life. I have dysthymia from overthinking everything. Let’s do something fun, you say. But before you finish thinking about it I am already done. In my mind I have been there and done that already. I’m bored. There’s nothing left to think. I no longer have original thoughts. I just recycle the same ones over and over again, finding new ways to say the same thing. No wonder my words are worn out. People say my words are sharp. But this blade will never do. It isn’t sharp enough to cut me. I can’t kill myself with it yet. And I don’t think I am of that quality.
I slept really well last night. My body feels refreshed. I even feel alert. I want to go back to sleep but I just can’t. I take care of myself out of spite. So I feed myself well and keep myself clean, go to bed before midnight and take some Valerian to make sure I fall asleep and stay that way until the morning. Make the bed before work. Wash my clothes on a Saturday morning. It’s just this routine. My heart is not in it. But I don’t want people to see. Not day to day. Not in the office, or having dinner with friends. I have to be impeccable. Dissimulate. Dress well. Speak well. Be social. Laugh at their jokes. Say something funny.
I wish I could burn it all down. The other night I had a dream, the stars fell from the heavens like nukes. It was so beautiful. That would make everything meaningful in an ironic way, the meaning that destroys all meaning.
I try to create some meaning, some system to make sense of it. But every system of meaning is self-defeating. If you try to apply it consistently it eventually contradicts itself and collapses. I see through them. I see the strange loop that sits at hides behind the phenomenological nature of our experience. A poisonous strange little loop that subverts all our spiritual endeavours.
It’s too late to die. Too late to live. I’m not properly in this world. I’m cursed with a body and it’s biological needs. Human needs for touch and care. Someone or something to bring my mind back here, now, even if just for a moment. Sometimes I would do anything, say anything. I even fall in love, but eventually I am always found out.