Life is meaningless and full of despair. Each step you take seems to be of no use, of no importance, of no actual purpose at all. You just drag your feet around in dirty mud, hoping that the hardships will make you stronger and will bring you to your destination, a destination you aren’t even aware of. '
When does it all
end? When will I finally see the flowers bloom and the sun shine? What is the
meaning of all of this?' – you sit and wonder, while you’re once again struck by
life’s unexpected and painful lessons that you have to learn and roads you have
to take.
Can your
only purpose be to learn from your previous life’s mistakes? Are we put into these
circumstances, into this specific family, specific country and specific
situation, so that it can pave the way towards what we have to learn? Is the
only point of this experience just learning? And so, when you finally learn all
of your lessons, then what? Is it then your time to go?
And what
about young children that die? The ones that are never born? Are they learning
or actually teaching lessons to others? What about those that never actually learn
their lessons in this lifetime? What about learning some lessons and not being
able to learn other ones? What happens next? Is a lifetime enough to actually
learn it all from your previous lifetimes? Are previous lives even a real
thing?
When I sat
down in front of my laptop, I did not think that this will be what I’m going to
write. I had a wonderful idea of a story I wanted to start, and still, these questions,
these words slipped out of my subconscious mind and I just felt that I had to address
them somehow. I am so full of questions, so uncertain about what the actual
fuck I have to do on this Earth. Each path I go through doesn’t feel quite
right. It is shaky, full of uncertainty, full of doubt and nausea. I started
with a beautifully crafted wall of talking about you, the reader, not me, like
it wasn’t something that I was wondering and that I was and am experiencing all
along. This feeling of everything is full of nonsense or that it should all
have a bigger purpose than this pathetic human mind can comprehend… a constant
battle inside of my mind. Why am I here? Why can’t I actually feel like any route
I walk on is the route I shall be actually taking? Why does everything just
feel… so wrong? So meaningless? So soul-crushingly painful and useless?
I keep on
writing and on writing whatever enters my conscious mind, figuring that maybe,
just maybe, the real answer will somehow slip out and I will finally feel
fulfilled, free, full of purpose and with a drive to go on. Still, I don’t think
that I can find the answer by just exploring whatever comes in my mind. The
answer is probably hidden somewhere safe, locked in a safe per say, in a
desolate, untraceable island in the middle of nowhere.
There’s
this certain hunger: the hunger for knowledge, for answers to my lifelong
questions that seem to have no actual answers whatsoever. I FEEL SUCH HUNGER FOR
IT THAT I COULD EAT UP THE WHOLE WORLD. Still, I resort myself to filling up this
insatiable hunger with some food, thinking that it will make me less hungry,
less uncomfortable, that it will fill the actual void that life brought with it.
It fills it up temporarily, yet it is never enough. The slight knowledge I gather
from time to time isn’t enough. A whole house filled with these jellies would
never be enough. The chance of eating the whole world and then some wouldn’t be
enough either. This hunger can never be tamed, can never be stopped. I fear
that I might end up feeling this insatiable hunger for all of my life, that no
body, no soul could ever help me get rid of it.
Each time,
when I find myself consuming these things, I dream that it will be the last
time. Still, there never comes a last time. I always crave them, and more often
than not, they take over my body and mind, they control me, I’m not in control
of how much I eat. I become blinded by the sensations it brings, even though it
only lasts for a couple of moments. Then, when I wake up, I am filled with
shame, disgust, disdain. I look at the bag of whatever I decided to fill my
void with. I look at it and want to throw it as far as possible. I want to
throw myself as far as possible. From the world. From people. From every little
connection that I have.
I try to
run away from these thoughts. Even right now, when I am already faced with
them. How much do I think that burying my head in a phone and searching for
distractions will actually work? It won’t work. At the end of the day, I still
feel disconnected, alone, alienated, unfit for this earth and for its society.
For its people that walk it. For I feel like I am the last piece of a puzzle,
but guess what? I don’t fit in. There’s only one piece of this puzzle that
needs to be put in, and still, it doesn’t fit in. And why is that? Why do I continuously,
endlessly, needlessly feel this way? What can I actually do to not feel like
this anymore? How can I shapeshift into the last piece of this damned puzzle
the world needs?
The
insanity of this is insane in itself. I wish I could just ignore these things
and not have to contemplate my actions, my random thoughts, my whole being. How
beautiful it would be to just… rest them aside, in peace. Yet I cannot, for I have
always been like this, for I was always driven by a curiosity as insatiable as
my hunger: for knowledge, for meaning, for connection, for belonging and all of
that.
So I will
just lay these thoughts on a random website, on a random day. Maybe, one day,
these words and thoughts will flourish and have some meaning. But for now, I’ll
let them out and make something of it.
What is
this even? Does it make any sense I wonder?
It might,
or it might not. It might be as senseless as I feel about most things. Or it might
mean anything, everything, all at once.
