Good evening, brothers and sisters.
I expect that this entry will be a short one.
I have just relapsed into some unfortunate behavior, and I am feeling disappointed with myself.
There is no theme or purpose in this evening’s entry, but there are three parts.
Part 1: Praying for Mass Extinction in the Supermarket
Part of me believes, or wants to believe, that all of humanity is connected. We all have value, and every life is precious.
However, it only takes something as small as a trip to the supermarket and encountering people who won’t stay six feet away from me, for me to slip into a hateful internal monologue, and to conclude that humanity does indeed deserve to be wiped out by a pandemic. All spiritually enlightened thoughts dissipate to reveal the real monster within.
Part 2: Waiting for a Painless Suicide to Fall Into My Lap
Ideally, I would like to fall asleep as usual, and simply not wake up. This seems like the best possible option. There would be no feelings of panic or of pain. If there is by some miracle an afterlife in which the ego, or my current sense of awareness, can survive, then I would have escaped; I would be in a new place.
If, as in the more likely scenario, there is nothing after I die, it would still be an escape. In fact, it would be even more of a validation of my feelings about the meaninglessness of life, and a justification for having wanted to end my miserable existence.
I hold these beliefs, and still I do nothing. I keep hoping for it all to work itself out, or to get up the courage to do something about it. I do think that this is where my problems with alcohol keep coming in; not only does it offer unparalleled stress relief, but it appeals to the part of me that wishes to help death along, but painlessly. Painless, unfortunately, isn’t a word I would use to describe my experiences with alcohol so far. After the worst episodes, death feels imminent, and instead of relief, I feel dread and panic.
Part 3: Daily Stupidity in the Face of a Gaping Void
I am convinced of life’s meaninglessness, but I still continue to go about daily routines, even those that I find unpleasant or which bring me grief. That is the ultimate absurdity. Here I am a little reluctant to go into too much detail in case the wrong pair of eyes somehow finds these words.
But even things which are neutral, such as creating and recording sounds: Why go on doing them?
Why continue to fill my small apartment with things?
Why yearn for a partner to whom I could only offer misery and disappointment?