Found a subreddit today that reminds me of some of my posts. /r/sadcringe. I’ve had some doozies in the past. Luckily afaik none of the people on my social media have taken advantage and reposted things I wrote. There is such a void in life when you feel you have to post these kind of things. /r/sadcringe emphasizes that whatever you do in life, never reveal that you need anything. Never be open. Or openly have problems. This is the sad truth of the world, even on the internet. There’s a reason why this blog is anonymous as hell. I’ve probably said enough to identify me somewhat, in particular where I live and what I do for a living, but IDGAF.
The thought of having my privacy broken, to have someone I actually know read this, it almost feels suicidally good. Like, “Someone finally knows how pathetic I am, excellent.” Like a form of degradation. People knowing at last how depressing my existence is, and I no longer have to pretend that everything is fine. Just a big breath of relief at having to expend so much energy I don’t have.
It’d feel good in the short term. It’d make life more difficult in the long term. Part of me longs to fall down, to see everything I’ve built just crumble away. Back to what I know – shit poverty and loneliness. To see the other shoe drop, finally, after years of waiting in fear for things to go back to the way they used to be. Poverty occupies the mind. Having money has done nothing for me but to give me more to possibly lose. The higher you climb, the harder you fall.
I’m only 31, but I have seen such a shift in the way people act over the years. I suppose it’s called “maturing.” People give less and less of fucks about your problems as time goes by. As it should be, I guess, but to me it just seems like the world gets colder. People get colder. Part of me wants to have a child for that reason, a buffer against the cold. But that shouldn’t be the only reason someone wants a child. Both partners should want a child, and my husband isn’t ready for anyone else to be number one in his life but him. There’s little room for sacrifice in him. Me, I have the desire but not the ability. Or the lifestyle. And so life continues as it should, childless, future-less, except for empty days filled with working, eating, watching TV, playing video games, and avoiding each other.
This is the reason that when I’m wound up in myself, like now, death seems like a great alternative. Like being asleep forever. But that’s not what it is. My tiny meat brain can’t truly comprehend non-existence and its warped chemistry makes death seem like a release from suffering. Which it is, in a way, but it’s the most final, no take-backsies decision you can make. I like take-backsies. I like decisions that turn out bad, become mistakes, mistakes that in the aftermath I can back away from, get yelled at for, generally be like “my bad” for. Can’t say “my bad” when you’re dead. Real talk.
Death being something you can’t undo. I read a lot of morbid shit on the internet, watched videos on people who jumped off the Golden Gate bridge and survived. Every single interview I saw, the people there stated the same thing: “The second I jumped off the bridge I knew that all of my life problems were solveable, except this one.” The very second they did it they changed their minds, but they couldn’t go back. They survived by sheer luck. Because I know if I ever decided to actually do it, I would regret it the second I tried. Bad thing to die with regret.
Why do I read morbid shit on the internet? Because it puts my suffering into perspective, when compared to what I see and read. Strangely, it levels me out. Suffering is universal, and it is terrible, and yes, the world isn’t what people wearing rose tinted glasses wants it to be. It’s real, the most real thing there is. It tells me, “Your suffering is real, but your suffering is also largely chemical. Dopamine and neurotransmitters and serotonin, oh my.” This guy’s children’s hands were chopped off because he didn’t meet his quota for King Leopold. “Oh. Well. Um. Shit. Uh.. My stepmother dumped drinks on my head and treated me like a wretched burden?” Yeah, perspective.
Anyway. Time to pretend I’ll be able to fall asleep properly tonight. Gonna start taking Chantix in the morning. Posts will be interesting.
Goodnight, any mad cunts out there. #SecretlyAustralian