It's hard not to see life as a narrative, which makes me feel like I'm doing everything wrong. Do you ever feel like you've got nothing to contribute? Like even your best efforts aren't enough to scratch the surface of your own misery, let alone the problems of the outside world?
This may come off as dark or brooding, maybe a little defeated, I don't know.
I don't understand how everyone isn't in despair all of the time. How people can live 30, 40, 50, 80 years on this earth and still find some motivation or reason to wake up every morning. What keeps people from falling to their knees and crying
"I've had enough" before committing to addiction or death?
This is true, thick, unexplainable misery. And the fucked up thing is that, outside of the death of my Dad, my life should be a privileged romp through professionalism and intelligence. And so I feel wrong for being miserable.
Maybe I'm not eating right, maybe not moving enough, maybe nicotine withdrawal, maybe disconnection from God, maybe grief, maybe I'm not where I'm supposed to be, maybe lack of discipline, maybe I have no passion, maybe I'm depressed, maybe I need meds, maybe it's other people, maybe it's not my fault, maybe I am genuinely worthless.
I noticed today that with the exception of 2020, I remember feeling justified in the proclamation that "this has been the worst year of my life" every year, since I was in middle school. Does that say something? I'm sure I'm not alone in this, but I'm also sure that this isn't everyone's experience.
Are some people meant to bear the most misery? Is that how we achieve compassion on a societal level? With little landmines of broken lives trying to make themselves and the world better without actually seeing the progress, just so that they just keep doing it? Keep trying to improve, and make better, and be kind, and avoid pain, and stay alive.
I dunno, it's just a bad day I guess. Not too much else to say about it.