Aphelion.. The point at which you are furthest from the sun.
The equity of the way that I knew my life was pointless, was to say, depressing. Not only to know that my existence was futile, but a short lapse of near inmeasurable worthlessness, but to also know that I was but of the few that was cursed with the ability to reconize this. The phrase ignorance is bliss has a whole new meaning to me. Those who are ignorant of their dispair, those who can satisfy their meager lives with nothing but the most mudane of its offerings, I truly am jealous of them. They do not deserve my pity for their idiocy, they deserve praise for managaing to cheat the pain of living.
My situation is even more unique then the other enlightened people. I am famous, at least somewhat. With a million subscribers, and rewards denoting me as the sexy, I would think that i could be happy. I used to think that dreaming was real, that I could hope for the future, and I could be happy when i achieved it.
I dreamed when i was younger of being skinny, of being famous, of being loved and cherished. I dreamed of escaping from my life and living in collge, and getting a degree. I wanted respect, and honor, and sex.
But i achieved these things, and others i failed in, and i came to a new realization. No matter what i dreamed, no matter what i achieved, the hole in my heart could not be filled. Not with food, with fans, or with physical contact. Occasionally I wonder if maybe everyone feels the way I do, just no one admits it enough. But if that were true, why does everyone continue to endure this unbearable life? The few, the alone, the immense suffering of the inequity of my lifeline is the immediate exploration of nothingness. If they did suffer it with me, it would be because of the same reason that I endure. Hope.
Occasionally I fear that Hope is the enemy, not fear. I fear that Hope only provides reason for us to explore this pain, to continue our living without repent, without admitting our despair. Those who are lucky are those filled with blind hope, satisfied with continously chasing their dreams, most of which they will never achieve, and the few that they do will only provide discomfort and disapointment.
Does my hope that my life could get better, that at some point in the future my life can change and i can be happy; does this hope hurt me? Is it only a ploy, set in motion by whatever vile thing keeps the world going, to make us endure? A trick, an exploit, a subtle flaw in the entire human consciousness that will make us contiously endure the pain and suffering of life with nothing but a dream of release keeping us alive? Yet that very dream of release from suffering is the only thing keeping us from deploring our own suffering, and truly ending it with the taking of our life.
The second reason I guess i can't take my life is that I am so selfless. My feelings of equity are subtle, estranged in this manner that it become sarcastic. When i once discussed my feelings with some online people, they mocked me, saying that my deppresion is self-fish, that I am only caring about myself. Hark, I can only laugh at them with the truth apparent in my mind.
If i was selffish, i would have ended it long ago. I wouldve taken the pills when i was 17 and first got myself a bag of them. I put it in my lockbox, a large bag filled with medicine profilliated from my parents boxes. From my brothers Adhd medication, to my cousisn deppresion medication, to my fathers sleep medication, and an entire bottle of my mothers prescription allergy medicine. The allergy medication alone would probably be enough, but I would hate to try killing myself, then failing in doing so.