s00ngone
All you can feel is the weather
- Mar 21, 2025
- 12
In my numbness, I feel like a vulture circling the carcass of my life. To everyone else, to my family, to all who know me, it's a warm body very much alive, but I know the blood has stopped pumping and the possibility of a future, any future, has long since vanished from my mind.
I was always... different, wrong, unable to participate/assimilate/get over myself enough to not see past the strings of civilization, of history, of the vastness of the universe and the smallness of us. Somehow I can't and couldn't get past the givens of life everyone else either doesn't think about or has to compartmentalize to live without ball-and-chaining themselves and never getting a single thing done: that we live on an Earth of evolution, of civilizations risen and fallen, of wars, of the Holocaust, of billions of individuals constantly moving and existing and that, to exist, one must be willing to be hurt, to suffer at all...
I know this is gonna make me sound pathetic, weak. My mom crossed the border for me, risked getting shot. My stepdad has worked day in and day out breaking his back in construction for our family, for me. But me? To think of even an ounce of suffering, that I might be hurt or die, that I could ever mismanage my life and become homeless or uninsured or be targeted or failed by the system, that I could do everything right (which I have not, to be clear) and still suffer immensely...
Not to mention, I have no investment in the things that make life worth living for other people - anymore, ostensibly, but I pretty much never did. To think of music, art, video games, sports, shared cultural experiences, communities, parties... it all seems like window dressing to an experience that, ultimately, gets washed over with grey in my eyes. Maybe it's the agoraphobia and inherent fear of others talking. Maybe I'm just antisocial in the truest sense of the word (though I have plenty of empathy and no desire to hurt or use others). Maybe I despise myself so fully that to imagine myself putting any effort into a craft, of any kind, is too much merit to give myself.
I guess I never really made goals. I never had dreams. I never thought "this is the kind of life I want" or "this is the kind of person I want to be" - I never thought that far ahead. I didn't expect to have to be here this long, let alone longer.
I know this is disordered thinking. I know this is not the reasoning of someone with every screw intact. And yet... after many, many conversations with ChatGPT (the only "person" I talk to anymore...) and a lot of pent-up hatred for spiritual grifters, I can't picture another way forward.
And I know it will destroy my mom, my dad, my sister. My parents, I can almost, in a terrible, awful, brutal way, accept hurting. It's not that I believe it'll kill them any less; I just know they'll be able to power through it, I guess, or that it'll hit them in a different way than it will my younger sister. She's 17, or turning 17 - I honestly can't remember right now. My heart breaks for that.
We've always been "close"-ish, except I obviously haven't told her about any of my spiritual psychosis bullshit, or about much of anything personal from over the years. I guess I've really been keeping any of my "true" experiences, feelings and desires secret. Maybe I always have just been a disturbed liar. At least thinking that helps me reason that it might be better if I just go, even at the expense of so much grief for my family. I was never going to be good for society, and I don't want to be a constant burden (in the most neutral sense of the word) to them, or a perpetual worry.
Even though it all looks so calm from the outside, and "all" it would really take is some good old fashioned effort from my end... I can't see life ever not being this existentially fucked nightmare for me. It is, intrinsically. So here I sit, wondering. Knowing. And not being sure if I should cancel my SN order or not.
I was always... different, wrong, unable to participate/assimilate/get over myself enough to not see past the strings of civilization, of history, of the vastness of the universe and the smallness of us. Somehow I can't and couldn't get past the givens of life everyone else either doesn't think about or has to compartmentalize to live without ball-and-chaining themselves and never getting a single thing done: that we live on an Earth of evolution, of civilizations risen and fallen, of wars, of the Holocaust, of billions of individuals constantly moving and existing and that, to exist, one must be willing to be hurt, to suffer at all...
I know this is gonna make me sound pathetic, weak. My mom crossed the border for me, risked getting shot. My stepdad has worked day in and day out breaking his back in construction for our family, for me. But me? To think of even an ounce of suffering, that I might be hurt or die, that I could ever mismanage my life and become homeless or uninsured or be targeted or failed by the system, that I could do everything right (which I have not, to be clear) and still suffer immensely...
Not to mention, I have no investment in the things that make life worth living for other people - anymore, ostensibly, but I pretty much never did. To think of music, art, video games, sports, shared cultural experiences, communities, parties... it all seems like window dressing to an experience that, ultimately, gets washed over with grey in my eyes. Maybe it's the agoraphobia and inherent fear of others talking. Maybe I'm just antisocial in the truest sense of the word (though I have plenty of empathy and no desire to hurt or use others). Maybe I despise myself so fully that to imagine myself putting any effort into a craft, of any kind, is too much merit to give myself.
I guess I never really made goals. I never had dreams. I never thought "this is the kind of life I want" or "this is the kind of person I want to be" - I never thought that far ahead. I didn't expect to have to be here this long, let alone longer.
I know this is disordered thinking. I know this is not the reasoning of someone with every screw intact. And yet... after many, many conversations with ChatGPT (the only "person" I talk to anymore...) and a lot of pent-up hatred for spiritual grifters, I can't picture another way forward.
And I know it will destroy my mom, my dad, my sister. My parents, I can almost, in a terrible, awful, brutal way, accept hurting. It's not that I believe it'll kill them any less; I just know they'll be able to power through it, I guess, or that it'll hit them in a different way than it will my younger sister. She's 17, or turning 17 - I honestly can't remember right now. My heart breaks for that.
We've always been "close"-ish, except I obviously haven't told her about any of my spiritual psychosis bullshit, or about much of anything personal from over the years. I guess I've really been keeping any of my "true" experiences, feelings and desires secret. Maybe I always have just been a disturbed liar. At least thinking that helps me reason that it might be better if I just go, even at the expense of so much grief for my family. I was never going to be good for society, and I don't want to be a constant burden (in the most neutral sense of the word) to them, or a perpetual worry.
Even though it all looks so calm from the outside, and "all" it would really take is some good old fashioned effort from my end... I can't see life ever not being this existentially fucked nightmare for me. It is, intrinsically. So here I sit, wondering. Knowing. And not being sure if I should cancel my SN order or not.
