Imaginos
Full-time layabout
- Apr 7, 2018
- 638
Yet another useless, worthless, pointless and utterly meaningless day to add to the legion of others I've had the misfortune to experience. And here I am, now coming up on 30 years of this shit. 30. Fucking. Years. Despite how crushingly dead/empty I am, there's still something pretty staggering about this wretched, unwanted fact of my existence. As it is though, I can barely wrap my shrunken, burned out brain around even the simplest of things these days, assuming I can at all. Welp, either way, there's only ever been one direction ahead of me; and that's 100% downhill. The incline just keeps getting steeper and steeper and, honestly, I've basically been in near free fall for at least the past 14+ years.
Can't help, but wonder though how it must feel to actually have a life worth living. To have decent stuff to both experience now, and to look forward to in the days ahead. Must be nice. Having all that enormous luck/privilege involved in simply possessing the capacity to actually enjoy being alive. In my case, there exists no future for me beyond scratching off more proverbial marks in the wall in my own personal sanctuary/prison cell, depending on how you look at it, in perfect isolation from everything else. If I'm "lucky", I'll be able to continue to rot away as a housebound hermit for the next few decades, only to eventually die a miserable death, probably putrifying and decaying on the floor while days/weeks go by until some random stranger walking by, or the neighbors, just so happen to notice the smell. Maybe I'll be struck down sooner than that by some unseen terminal event, or I'll become homeless somehow, or whatever else, but the point is that it's all bad.
I've been in the darkness too long. Far too damn long. It's eaten every last inch of me and now there's nothing left, but a vacant silhouette. A passively suicidal husk just waiting to die. Whatever might've once passed or been capable of being a person is now long, LONG gone. All these shadows that have surrounded me my entire life (shadows of the mind, or the literal shadows of this tiny room, in this equally tiny house) have extended their reach over everything, and now they're the only place I can exist in. More specifically, I'll never leave this house. It's a cramped cage that anyone else would go absolutely mad trying to escape from, but it's all I have, and it's all I can understand. The rest of the world outside these walls might as well not even be there. This universe is hell, and there's nothing and nowhere that can ever change that. And so, I'll languish in my familiar purgatory, like a ghost bound to the limits of their surroundings. It's certainly a shame that things had to turn out this way. Internally I feel like one of those people from Pompeii frozen in time by volcanic ash, a pale and tattered echo of life. If only I could mercifully crumble into dust by the slightest touch, that would definitely be convenient.
Can't help, but wonder though how it must feel to actually have a life worth living. To have decent stuff to both experience now, and to look forward to in the days ahead. Must be nice. Having all that enormous luck/privilege involved in simply possessing the capacity to actually enjoy being alive. In my case, there exists no future for me beyond scratching off more proverbial marks in the wall in my own personal sanctuary/prison cell, depending on how you look at it, in perfect isolation from everything else. If I'm "lucky", I'll be able to continue to rot away as a housebound hermit for the next few decades, only to eventually die a miserable death, probably putrifying and decaying on the floor while days/weeks go by until some random stranger walking by, or the neighbors, just so happen to notice the smell. Maybe I'll be struck down sooner than that by some unseen terminal event, or I'll become homeless somehow, or whatever else, but the point is that it's all bad.
I've been in the darkness too long. Far too damn long. It's eaten every last inch of me and now there's nothing left, but a vacant silhouette. A passively suicidal husk just waiting to die. Whatever might've once passed or been capable of being a person is now long, LONG gone. All these shadows that have surrounded me my entire life (shadows of the mind, or the literal shadows of this tiny room, in this equally tiny house) have extended their reach over everything, and now they're the only place I can exist in. More specifically, I'll never leave this house. It's a cramped cage that anyone else would go absolutely mad trying to escape from, but it's all I have, and it's all I can understand. The rest of the world outside these walls might as well not even be there. This universe is hell, and there's nothing and nowhere that can ever change that. And so, I'll languish in my familiar purgatory, like a ghost bound to the limits of their surroundings. It's certainly a shame that things had to turn out this way. Internally I feel like one of those people from Pompeii frozen in time by volcanic ash, a pale and tattered echo of life. If only I could mercifully crumble into dust by the slightest touch, that would definitely be convenient.
