In an ocean of voices, how does one communicate his own? The sound is lost before it ever leaves his lips, consumed by a torrential outpouring of a million different words all trying to say a million different things.
In an environment such as this, where everyone gets to have their say, how can one make himself be heard?
Sometimes, the effort just to continue speaking seems too great to bear; like a heavy boulder strapped to my back, I cannot endure it.
I just want to lie back in my bed and not get up in the morning, to just lay there in the darkness, blinds drawn, waiting to die.
Sometimes, in the darkness of despair, I think that maybe death won’t be so bad, that at least in non-existence1 I can find the peace I lacked in life.
Death, if there is no life beyond, is a dark stillness, an eternal sleep, a state in which one’s problems never trouble them again.
The fear I have isn’t always that I won’t fulfill whatever my purpose in life was, but that I’ll discover on the brink of death that there was no purpose3, that all of this was just some unhappy accident.
From non-existence to existence, then back to non-existence. Conservation of energy and momentum. Cold hard balance, foisted upon us all in the dark and uncaring void of space and time.
1. I don’t really believe that we cease to exist when we die. But sometimes, when I’m feeling really depressed, I begin to wonder.
2. I believe that all of us are born into this world with a mission, that we all have a purpose. But I often question that belief.
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