Rogue_Gendarme
Ten Thousand Years
- Apr 22, 2024
- 50
Before I found semi-stability through antidepressants, I was very obsessed with the idea of a peaceful death. (I still am, which is why I got SN and failed to source opioids.) But I also had this fantasy of dying with everyone as well. That, before the final days, people would gather together — everyone would be free to roam wherever, do whatever — and all our shackles will be off because it's the final days soon.
Ideally it would be a year, but mass extinction in a few months also felt ideal. Or maybe even today, and when I'd wake up, everything would change due to some nuclear extinction event. Because that's what I want. Radical transformation, change in any way. The abolition of the current state of things, politically speaking.
I was so fucking depressed during those school days that I'd be constantly mad, stressed, irritated. So I fantasized getting cancer and attention because I never got the latter. And those things — stress, anger — weigh heavily on me now. Never thought I'd have to deal with the consequences of the struggles I went through, because I never wanted nor expected nor needed to live further than, say, the last birthday I'd celebrate before becoming legal.
And I still think of mass extinction, not as some sort of fantasy, but a unique fascination. How beautiful and how ugly equally would it be? All the flowers blooming, all the people singing, dancing, praying to God one last time. Desperate for salvation, absolution, with all supplication — but no reparation comes in the end.
The world is silent before the final peace. The Universe is quiet, unanswering to our menagerie of questions. No one else out there, it seems. But just us. And today, the world ends. I used to say that a lot: "the world ends tomorrow." That's what got me through these "hell weeks." Now my mantra is different: "peace be with you. Let go." "Gate, gate, parasamgate," and all that. Think Buddhist monk.
But I'm not really a pious man. Just a survivor who survived against his will — and way back, was born also against his will. Nobody here wanted their suffering. Even if they did, sociopathy or psychopathy is not something you choose, but rather develope, yk?
And so, I think it's poetic that if everyone died in a few years, months, or maybe days or hours, it'd also be against their will. So much of this "free will" thing that the European philosophers so heavily loved. We are born against our will, live a life following a thread of misfortunes and fortunes we don't roll the dice on, and ultimately will die against our will...
But, wait... no.
Dying is the only choice we have. Suicide is the only choice we have. Isn't that a bit fucking tragic? I don't have the choice to be happy nor the chance, but I can create a makeshift noose to hang on to? Like, what, is that symbolic of hope or death? In many ways, it's both. Suicide provides comfort for some people. I certainly feel more at peace having a way out than not. Because if not, it means I'm going to live a few more years kicking, screaming, crying, suffering, stressing.
Death is the only choice, in the end.
So it's a bit intriguing to think about what it would be like when we're faced with a type of death we didn't choose. Would we fight and fuck and frighten? Or would we make love, make peace, make do, and make supplications?
I choose to place the very fucking last cents of my hope on the latter.
So it's beautiful to think the world goes beautiful in the end, in the end.
Ideally it would be a year, but mass extinction in a few months also felt ideal. Or maybe even today, and when I'd wake up, everything would change due to some nuclear extinction event. Because that's what I want. Radical transformation, change in any way. The abolition of the current state of things, politically speaking.
I was so fucking depressed during those school days that I'd be constantly mad, stressed, irritated. So I fantasized getting cancer and attention because I never got the latter. And those things — stress, anger — weigh heavily on me now. Never thought I'd have to deal with the consequences of the struggles I went through, because I never wanted nor expected nor needed to live further than, say, the last birthday I'd celebrate before becoming legal.
And I still think of mass extinction, not as some sort of fantasy, but a unique fascination. How beautiful and how ugly equally would it be? All the flowers blooming, all the people singing, dancing, praying to God one last time. Desperate for salvation, absolution, with all supplication — but no reparation comes in the end.
The world is silent before the final peace. The Universe is quiet, unanswering to our menagerie of questions. No one else out there, it seems. But just us. And today, the world ends. I used to say that a lot: "the world ends tomorrow." That's what got me through these "hell weeks." Now my mantra is different: "peace be with you. Let go." "Gate, gate, parasamgate," and all that. Think Buddhist monk.
But I'm not really a pious man. Just a survivor who survived against his will — and way back, was born also against his will. Nobody here wanted their suffering. Even if they did, sociopathy or psychopathy is not something you choose, but rather develope, yk?
And so, I think it's poetic that if everyone died in a few years, months, or maybe days or hours, it'd also be against their will. So much of this "free will" thing that the European philosophers so heavily loved. We are born against our will, live a life following a thread of misfortunes and fortunes we don't roll the dice on, and ultimately will die against our will...
But, wait... no.
Dying is the only choice we have. Suicide is the only choice we have. Isn't that a bit fucking tragic? I don't have the choice to be happy nor the chance, but I can create a makeshift noose to hang on to? Like, what, is that symbolic of hope or death? In many ways, it's both. Suicide provides comfort for some people. I certainly feel more at peace having a way out than not. Because if not, it means I'm going to live a few more years kicking, screaming, crying, suffering, stressing.
Death is the only choice, in the end.
So it's a bit intriguing to think about what it would be like when we're faced with a type of death we didn't choose. Would we fight and fuck and frighten? Or would we make love, make peace, make do, and make supplications?
I choose to place the very fucking last cents of my hope on the latter.
So it's beautiful to think the world goes beautiful in the end, in the end.