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Reflection from February 20th, 2008 @ Age 26


It’s not been the best of days.  It’s certainly not been one of the worst (thank god…if I believed in that and all), but I’ve had a fair share of better days.  Today was another suicidal day.

I really try’n pay attention to what I’m thinking when I have these kinds of thoughts because, I don’t know—it seems like it’s prolly important and all.  Today I was thinking about how I’m just so disappointed in the world because I’ve worked so fucking hard for so fucking long, I’ve worked to be honest and promote truth as often as is humanly possible for a person like me, I’ve worked to put good into this world and to be kind and show love towards other human beings.  I feel like I’ve done all this good and you’re damn straight I’m fucking waiting for something in return.  Anyone who says “ohh it feels so good to give that it doesn’t even matter if the favor is returned” either doesn’t give all that often or is lying.  There are a lot of hard things we have to do in this world—but I think one of the most difficult is to give without expectation of receiving something in return.  

Isn’t that what morals teach us though?  That if we are good and honest and kind to others, then we get to go to heaven.  Isn’t it funny how they leave the good part up till the very fucking end and even then there’s no guarantee.  I don’t know, it just feels like I’ve worked very hard for almost the entirety of my life, and I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere and I’ve gotten very little in return, and at some point, when the daily grind and the daily suffering far surmounts the reward and satisfaction I derive from life, I just have to ask myself—what the fuck is the goddamn point?  I mean this literally, I wish someone could tell me what the goddamn point is already.

It’s funny how some people never think about the meaning of life—it just never crosses their fucking minds.  And other people can’t get past it.  I think these “other” people are the kinds of people that were put on this earth to suffer, for whatever reason, and the suffering is inescapable; there are no shortcuts, there is no maneuvering around or overtop or underneath—there is only pain.  Never ending, soul crushing, heart breaking pain.  I don’t know how to describe the pain though; I don’t know if I’ve yet been able to put it into words.  I haven’t finished reading through and typing up my old journals and while I’ve read a few of my old originally typed entries, I think it’s really going to take one or two good comprehensive run throughs of the entire story, my entire story to even begin to recognize whether or not I’ve been able at all to convey accurately what’s been on my mind all this time.