When I think of all the years that are lying ahead of me I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. Sometimes I think that I would like to wake up when things are better. When the world is spick-and-span clean. Thoroughly sterilised. When you can buy yourself a perfect, shiny, new brain. When man has managed to build a time machine. But even then, I can’t imagine being happy or content. I can’t imagine that life might be worth living. Not even with a new brain. Not even if I was someone else.
Don’t get me wrong. I love this world. I’m just tired of life. I can’t die. I don’t want to die. I don’t see the point in dying but neither can I see the point in being alive. So I’m just hanging on. Aimless, planless, clueless. Drifting from one day into the next. Thanks to the anti-depressants, I’ve got back my moment of bliss and thrill but even they are meaningless. More meaningless than anything else, in fact.
How do other people live? How do other people stay motivated? Are they blind to the futility of life? Do they not care about the emptiness and the meaninglessness? Or do they know something I don’t? Am I the blind one?
How am I supposed to live like this, with a brain that doesn’t work and the few times it does work, it spits out rubbish like this? No anti-depressant will give me a purpose or an answer. They just mask the pain and the weariness for a while, paint it over with a thick layer of cheap, disgusting thrills. That’s all that I live for. Cheap, disgusting thrills! I don’t know anything else. Everything else hurts.
My head hurts. My mind is tired but there is no escape from this. I can’t escape my thoughts, or whatever masquerades as thoughts. The output of that pile of crap, I call my brain.
I’m so tired but I don’t want to go to sleep because if I do when I wake up it will be tomorrow. I don’t want to start another day. I dread tomorrow. I dread the future, I can’t deal with the past and the present doesn’t exist. It’s just a concept, a fleeting, transient idea that passes too quickly to grasp. Anyway, not that it matters.
Life sucks. What’s worse is the knowledge that it isn’t life that sucks but me. My stupid, useless brain and my weakness to fight these feelings and the mood swings.