/lit/ - Literature

>>20024901
You have a low hedonic baseline. I'm a doctor.

Unironically, read Nietzsche. Sit in silence for 48 hours, no screens whatever, and try to figure out what sort of life you'd like to live. Make some long term plans with clear goals, and start working toward them. Even if the goals aren't perfect, you'll see further as you climb up the slope.

You write like someone without drive, but the fact that you're asking about this at all shows the light hasn't gone out of you yet. I know deep down you want to be stronger than you are now.

You want to isolate from the imperfect world, and we all understand you. Who can claim to have never once recoiled from this vast riddle?

I'll tell you what you need to hear:
You're "not conventionally happy" because you're not a true normie. It could be genes, it could be that you're not actually trying at life so you don't get the pleasant life-affirming mood which is the prerogative of strivers. It could even be general anomie, nihilism, and the psychic pollution of the web communities you've grown up on making you weak.

I lied. That wasn't what you need to hear. The point is, you're weak. You're so weak. You've pushed aside whatever was noble in you and let circumstance guide your life. You tell yourself the only solution is isolation? You don't even understand yourself. You don't want to test your mettle, so you've never really tested it, so you don't know what you can do. Things are too hard for you. Failing is too hard. Trying is the hardest.
The natural mind of a healthy human is that of an Apex Predator.
You're a herbivore. You're a tender-faced ruminant. That's because you're addicted to grass.
Can't get enough of those hedons, can you? You just need to feel so good all the time. You know what feels bad? Discomfort. Hence: your post.

But I know what scares you most. I can smell it on you. It's regret.

You haven't committed to a purpose because you're Sylvia Plath under the fig tree. You're tarrying in pure potential, because choosing something always means giving up so much more. You know who doesn't have to choose? Children. They're the glorious summit of possibility. That's also why you chose to post the image you did. Funnily enough, the kid is happy because his parents chose the Cars blanket for him: he has an identity. The older Wojak has no one to choose for him, and, since he can choose anything (and anything is as good as anything else), he chooses nothing. Wait, we have the causality wrong: It's because he won't choose that everything goes grayscale.

Being somebody is scary.That's just our ugly, stupid whore of a life. It would be lot more fun if we could change who we were like weathervanes.

I lied again. You're already a weathervane, and it's hell. The trick is to pick something you want to be, then strive to be it. Rejoice at the pruning of possibilities: you didn't want them.

Or ignore me. If you can't break your bad habits yourself, they'll stop naturally in your coffin.