Venting An existential crisis.

[Sunü (素女)]

Why should I even strive to do anything? Why improve and be better when I could just die now. There's no objective truth that'll decide either of which is better. Life is neither inherently good nor bad, yet I feel this persistent yearning to die during these nights. I might have wrongfully interpreted it as a "yearning to die", but it could also be this: "yearning for something better". Because I can't believe this is all what my life has been! This repetitive routine, my degrading memory, my complacency. It's all fucking sickening. Where are my passions, where are my true joys.. Will I get complacent and forget this awareness of my life's condition? Am I going to repeat this routine again and again and with little hope of escaping? It's all so maddening to think about. A dumb organism, bound and stuck by their habituation.

Am I going to wake up tomorrow, open up my phone, and watch Youtube and forget? Be happy in the moment, distract myself, and then forget once again. It's so disgusting and sickening that in this moment, I'd want to curse myself with perpetual unease rather than feel any bit of complacency again. But what even are the chances of me escaping? Slim, especially since I don't see anywhere to reach towards. To where/what purpose should I go when I leave this dumb loop? To better myself, to better other people, to please myself or others. All unappealing. What even is the point of escaping when I'm content to die anyways.

Ultimately, these are all evaluations. They will change as my body and perspective will change. What you have read are likely the words of a desperate, fed-up me. Tomorrow will yield likely yield a more somber me, and neither will both their evaluations be absolutely correct. I still wish to change; I sincerely hope so. I'm fearful that it'll stay the same, but I am accepting if it does happen. Lives are not special and I hardly doubt I am any exception. My life will repeat in circles if I let it, my life will be a pit of despair if I let it, and yet I'm all okay with letting it happen?

Sometimes life is this joke, this long accident, an unintended birth, and I eventually have to accept to not be bothered when it does happen. "You spent your days on earth alone? And you sabotaged yourself at each attempt to socially interact? Haha! What a funny way I have lived!" Because I feel freedom when life is viewed as contemptuously as a joke to be played with, a joking-bit to act out through to its punchline. I'd want to look at my suffering, my idiosyncrasies and laugh at them and still proclaim "Yes, yes. Those are mine."


I likely haven't answered much of my initial questions, so I'll likely revisit and answer them at a later date. At least, I finally had the courage to post something here. Who knew that i just needed another existential crisis to break out of my shell.

 

[timf]

There is a hunger that arises in the heart of those who can see past the routine and consumptive. This is often satisfied by growing in wisdom and understanding. This in turn can open a door to helping others which can provide sustaining life satisfaction.

There is that in each person that cries out for relationship. Sadly, there is that in self that poisons relationships. If we can transcend self, we can find the door to happiness and fulfillment.

 

[Sunü (素女)]

I hate that my prediction that I'll be worse off and degrade when I continue to live is correct. I surely have gained in growth and experience, but what does that mean when I cannot even change myself? When I can't even pull the motivation to study or even to conjure a modicum of effort into something. I'm more of an observer than a doer in this world. When my inclination is to decline and degrade, I have become a decadent. My happiness and contentment are my downfall. Boredom and suffering are my direct paths for change.

I want to die because I can't bear all of this. My youthful self would have said "Yes! I will take on this beast!" and deem it as another challenge to overcome, but recently I cowered and resigned and believed in some "peace" in death. I cannot walk forwards when my eyes look backwards, so I take solace from this truth: there is nothing in death. Close your eyes and count to 1, that is eternity, that is death. To factually believe in some peace, some assurance or respite, some escape is false, a fantasy. I am only alive in this life, and there is no afterlife, no sensations that appears a millisecond after I die. Then, what I am is stuck with being alive, stuck to bear the results of my cowardice, stuck with the responsibility of living.

How you see death is a reflection of your psychology. When one is tired and exhausted of life, death is an escape. What I feel now is my disgust of my weakness, and death to me has been a lure to a trap; a lure to produce and multiply resignation.

O Death, I will come to you but first let me play on the shores and build with its sand.​

On living, it is not enough to delude myself to be happy and carefully craft my own contentment. Why favor those? TO HELL with them, they have led me astray. But how shall I live? I still have to answer that.. but for now, I feel strength to face what had caused me to stress and complain here.