Existential Dread

I feel compelled to discuss how I've been feeling for the past several years. I realize that it's egotistical and childish, but I'm going to do it anyway. My discretion has always been limited.

For those of you who don't know me very well, I'm sure that I seem fairly well put together. Many people have an image of me that really isn't that accurate. A lot of people think I'm smart, or talented, or enlightened (that one surprised me), but the truth is that I'm none of those things. I certainly don't think so.

I teeter on the edge of existential crisis everyday. I wake up in the morning, and try to justify my getting up. I hate living. I hate life. There seems to be something contemptible in everything that I see- something malicious and untrustworthy in every person, creature, or institution. Sincere gestures are lost upon me and I see nothing but evil in my fellow man.

Daily I recede into myself and contemplate the meaning of life and suffering (the most important questions ever posed). I find no answers. My credulity seldom shows itself and I'm left in profound confusion at every turn. Nihilism is the only reasonable conclusion.

I find no solace in my capabilities as meager as they certainly are, and each day drags on too long- endless hours... sleepless nights. I can't fucking sleep anymore. I'm up until 3 each morning, brooding, my emotions boiling up to something resembling motivation and then receding into apathy.

A sort of cosmic horror plagues me, and I can't help but feel that we're all so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, waiting to be wiped away by a gargantuan asteroid or the push of button. There is no peace and I'm not inclined to think that there ever will be.

My dreams of day are of future achievements that I feel incapable of reaching, and my dreams of night are haunted by the agonies of years past. These terrors trap me in the banality of the present where my inhibitions consistently fail me. Living in the moment is not a skill that I have. So much passes me by. I miss it because my eyes are fixed on the ever-dimming horizon, the seemingly impossible future that I need to self-actualize.

I don't eat anymore either it seems. Sometimes I'll think about my diet and realize that I haven't eaten in a day. I don't know how it happens, but it does. It seems rather unimportant. What am I sustaining but my discomfort? Every time I feed myself my depression dines as well. It never leaves nor forsakes me, and as faithful a companion as it's been, I do detest it. It is the bane of my existence.

No longer do the vices of man entice me as they used to. They no longer excite me. No, they anesthetize me, put me into a blissful ignorance. If I keep doing what I'm doing though, I probably won't live long.

I am a failure.

My splash has been and will be pathetic.

I am going to die alone.