(no subject)
I pretty much just want to quit everything. Quit doing, quit thinking, quit living.
Not really talking about suicide. I don't have the will for something like that. But if I was a machine, I'd want to be shut down and packed back into my box and stuffed in a closet somewhere. Stop wasting time and energy and money, especially that of other people. Just stop functioning and go quietly away.
Bloody hells, I halfway wish I was being melodramatic about this, too. But this isn't an attempt to stir up drama or get comforting responses from others. I don't actually expect anyone to read this, much less respond. Writing helps me sort and straighten out my thoughts, though, and that's really what it's about. Cataloging my depression and my desire to cease, much as I catalog so many other ideas on here. So it goes.
"Ignorance is bliss." This is especially true when it comes to matters of self-awareness. I hold few illusions about myself, about my talents, my worth, the power of my will. I almost never feel an emotion that I don't understand fully, its causes and results, its meaning analyzed and categorized as I'm feeling it. There's always that bit of detachment, that voice that narrates everything in excruciating detail. No illusions necessary or permitted, even about itself.
Being unusually self-aware doesn't confer the ability to do anything about one's failings, though. Another of my many limitations of which I am only all too aware. So I curse it sometimes, self-knowledge. I started this constant analysis of what I think, feel, and do out of some desire to master my mental and physical habits, and all I've discovered is that they continue on despite.
I suppose it might be considered an impressive feat, in and of itself. Not many people seem to fully understand where they're coming from, what sources their emotions and thoughts. But this accomplishment, if that's what it is, has no practical value and has brought me precious little pride or joy of it.
I suppose it would be nice if I could surprise myself, even once.
And I have a reason for wanting to feel this way. For wanting to do something that even I don't fully anticipate it, don't understand what it is as it's happening. There's something right now that makes me want to break out of this morbid predictability.
But I know that I won't. Or perhaps that I can't. And that's easily as depressing as the thing itself, my reason for feeling this way. So I want to stop and disappear quietly, such that no one would notice. And why I felt the need to lay it out and dissect it here, like this. As if I didn't understand already.
Not really talking about suicide. I don't have the will for something like that. But if I was a machine, I'd want to be shut down and packed back into my box and stuffed in a closet somewhere. Stop wasting time and energy and money, especially that of other people. Just stop functioning and go quietly away.
Bloody hells, I halfway wish I was being melodramatic about this, too. But this isn't an attempt to stir up drama or get comforting responses from others. I don't actually expect anyone to read this, much less respond. Writing helps me sort and straighten out my thoughts, though, and that's really what it's about. Cataloging my depression and my desire to cease, much as I catalog so many other ideas on here. So it goes.
"Ignorance is bliss." This is especially true when it comes to matters of self-awareness. I hold few illusions about myself, about my talents, my worth, the power of my will. I almost never feel an emotion that I don't understand fully, its causes and results, its meaning analyzed and categorized as I'm feeling it. There's always that bit of detachment, that voice that narrates everything in excruciating detail. No illusions necessary or permitted, even about itself.
Being unusually self-aware doesn't confer the ability to do anything about one's failings, though. Another of my many limitations of which I am only all too aware. So I curse it sometimes, self-knowledge. I started this constant analysis of what I think, feel, and do out of some desire to master my mental and physical habits, and all I've discovered is that they continue on despite.
I suppose it might be considered an impressive feat, in and of itself. Not many people seem to fully understand where they're coming from, what sources their emotions and thoughts. But this accomplishment, if that's what it is, has no practical value and has brought me precious little pride or joy of it.
I suppose it would be nice if I could surprise myself, even once.
And I have a reason for wanting to feel this way. For wanting to do something that even I don't fully anticipate it, don't understand what it is as it's happening. There's something right now that makes me want to break out of this morbid predictability.
But I know that I won't. Or perhaps that I can't. And that's easily as depressing as the thing itself, my reason for feeling this way. So I want to stop and disappear quietly, such that no one would notice. And why I felt the need to lay it out and dissect it here, like this. As if I didn't understand already.