/lit/ - Literature

>>21999223
I'm you but 31 and worse. And it gets a lot worse. Here's a joke, I'm envious of your youth but only so I could have more of a buffer to languish in idleness, the world will close in around you as you get older and eventually you'll be forced to look it in the eye. It hasn't happened to me yet but the day isn't far off. Maybe I could have done it a decade ago, but now I actually have reasons to be ashamed and diffident. You'll note I don't actually enjoy all this nothing which I busy myself with, but it's all I know and the externality of anything else is deeply unnatural. I have no better reason for my predicament. There must be some essential something that compels others to participate and take an interest in not only the world but themselves, I lack this. If I speak the words are false, if I do something it's so I can stop, if express a thought in any way to anyone it is abstracted and othered, and only ever a means to an end. I don't think I've ever once tried to do something I wanted, and I can no longer remember what it's like to want, the best way I can explain something so incredulous is I have no expectation of reward in anything, even hypotheticals, it's all just alien and apart. I think I will kill myself once I've finally run out of lies and excuses.

Maybe you can learn from my example. The best wisdom I have is that reason for its sake is worthless and risk is its own reward for a human, humans are meant to manifest their wills, or else they become something else as I did.