The quest for meaning in life
I’ve been feeling very down lately. Chances are you’ve been better too… I don’t think I need to explain more, we’ve all been on the edge so to speak, for a while now. It seems as though we have been jumping from one catastrophe to the other. I told myself I wouldn’t really write about this, as I’m sure you’ve far better sources and I don’t necessarily feel like I have anything new to bring to the table. Some refugees will be staying over in our Airbnb however, so I will try to write about their experiences once I get to know them. For now though, I must deal somehow, with my own personal crisis.
All this stuff got me into a thought proccess rabbit hole, after the initial shock from the news, from the adrenaline surge and the outcries I led out in real life and on social media. Is it worth living? I would have told you “Absolutely! You need to amount to something, make your time worth it, accomplish something.” The cynic in me, that was always there, somehow allowed all these thought processes to happen. But now, he grew older and grumpier and to the contrary, doesn’t really shut up in my head anymore. I’m not sure what happened to me. My illusions were shattered. My psychedelic fueled enthusiasm for life, the universe, and the people in it got covered by an incredibly dark blanket of depression and despair. Fear is the key. Cynicism and apathy are the guardians, the coping mechanism.
Lately, I feel absolutely nothing. I’m not gonna lie — I’ve been thinking about killing myself. Sure, I get depressed, but not like this. This is a whole new level. Drugs barely help. I wish I could feel anything at all, but I don’t. I have nothing to latch onto, nothing has any value to me anymore. I have an existential crisis too. I forgot, or maybe I just never bothered to ask myself, what the reason for my existence is. Seriously though, have you ever asked yourself, why bother?
It’s a Herculian task to get the fuck out of bed each morning. And the loop — same day looping over and over again. Shitty morning wake up call to reality — getting shit on for being late at wherever the fuck you decided you “need” to be today. Coming home late. Feeling somehow even worse. You blink twice and somehow two hours in human time pass. There’s no time to as much as collect your thoughts. You see all those inspirational fucking social media posts about hustle and whatever the fuck ridiculous sociopathic grindset you should adopt. Then you either pass out or don’t sleep at all. You close your lids hoping to “manifest” a better tomorrow, but the tomorrow made a deal with the yesterday and switched. And there it goes again — you’re thrown into another goddamn day. Why bother going through this again? I know the ending, seen it a million times. The movie kind of sucks too. The more I think about this, the worse the rabbit hole gets. I genuinely can’t give myself a good enough reason to bother breathing. Everything seems silly or pretentious, or both. Sometimes the result is genuinely not worth the effort. So is life worth living? The nihilistic cynic in me would probably say that it depends, that it’s subjective, but objectively, please, before making a rash decision, try to make something of it. I’ve heard stories from people who “have made it” through their darkest hour, it’s what gives me hope now, in mine. It’s a bottomless pit it seems — but once you reach the point, where you tell yourself enough is enough, you can jump high once again.
Good luck.
