Voices in my head are getting worse as my mental health deteriorates at a visible speed.
I moved back to Langley, a place where I loved and hated. All my neighbours are cutting grass on a typical Saturday afternoon, putting conceivable pressure on me to keep the lawn green. While my belongings temporarily got held up at the old place in White Rock, I got to experience the life of a minimalist.
The belongings are like my mental burdens trying to survive in this world. On the surface, they are not here, but I knew they are mine, and I got to pick them up at a date not so distant into the future like Parisianne picking up after their dog.
What is the point of this blog anyway? I was born nihilist so why bother leaving some words behind? If I have 18 hrs awake, only 1 hr is dedicated to me, so days slipped by feeling like hours, with me wasting them away like a rich kid out of Macau.
Broke the car when I was pressured to fix it in 48 hrs. Felt like shit but still have to call for the tow and pay for someone to do it. Not religious, but my first thought? May god be there because this is no longer in my control.
We never had any solid control over our lives anyway, we would like to believe we do. But in reality, if we truly do, then no one would ever feel depressed or heartbroken or simply not contemptuous of their life. For if they do, surely they would have altered it in some indescribable way.
The state of my existence is like a chain where I am being pinned down by some fucking nonsense identity crisis. There is nothing I could change about my givenness, and yet I feel estranged, like a foreigner with the reality. I may not be the first one to think like this, but this is not to say that I would find people with the same thought as "familiar". Shit, I don't even fucking know these people.
Being a human being is exhausting, I don't want no next life. Once I am finished with this one, I'm fucking out. Fuck consciousness. Fuck man's search for meaning. Fuck metaphysics.
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