Friendships and Suicide

8 mar 2026
song: I remember Clifford - Masayoshi Takanaka

Now truth be told, I shouldn't be writing this. I should be preparing for exams, but I just took a bath and made myself a cup of coffee. It's 18:47; everything is so quiet, and I'm itching to write something. I want to talk about people for a second before I move on to a rather interesting topic. As I become older, connecting with people and the whole idea of friendships has become a bit alien to me. Things used to be simple; when I was young, the idea of friends was very simple. I never really had to think about it; maybe thinking is indeed the issue. I find it quite hard to connect with people. I can talk and hold up a conversation with anyone who speaks the same language as I do, but sadly most conversations are a drag. Deep down I'm kind of an asshole, I judge people quite heavily (internally ofcourse). I genuinely dislike people who are not passionate about something and refuse to think for themselves. I absolutely adore people who act and do things that come from a place of love. Whether it be art, academia, sports, etc. It's always a pleasure to hear them talk.

Every now and then I stumble across these passionate people, but maintaining a friendship always seems a bit tricky. Especially the long-distance ones. I can't help but say I've fallen victim to this meme in which the conversation goes along the lines of

- hey, how are you

- oh im doing alright, hbu

- im doing fine aswell

Then it fucking ends. It's kind of funny in its own right, because I'm never just 'alright'. There will always be something going on. Some emotional high or the lack thereof. There is always something going on; that being said, I don't really like talking about them. It just makes me feel stupid and childish, thus me replying with 'alright'. I assume the other person feels the same as well. Truth be told, I know why things are like that, and I kind of have the answers to these things, but still it bothers me. Still, I do want to talk about it, and it would be really nice if they just simply listened. I don't really ask people that because I feel really selfish. I don't know; maybe it's alright to be a bit selfish.

This is why I journal a lot; I can be really fucking immature, angry and everything I want to be. I hope that in the future I can do that with people. My primal instinct to listen to music and try to be alone when I face the slightest of inconveniences doesn't really help the issue, but I genuinely want to try. I'm sure that all my mates are more than kind enough to lend me an ear, but as I've mentioned, I can be an idiot. I think a lot of the time I feel really lonely because of my inability to do this.

Now to the other interesting topic, I've been thinking about suicide a lot. Not in a ' I'm going to kill myself' manner but in a more objective and rational manner. I throw around the idea in my head quite a bit. It's interesting, to say the least. According to Albert Camus (my favourite philosopher, probably because he's the only guy I've read properly), suicide means acceptance. Acceptance that this life is not worth all this trouble. I think that's fair, to be honest. That being said, people seem quite terrified of the word, especially my parents. The mood shifts very quickly when things along the lines of suicide or life not having any meaning come into the conversation.

The reason why I am writing about this is to try and understand my own thoughts. So let me ask myself, 'What does it mean to kill yourself, or rather, what would push you towards it?'. Truth be told, as I see things, there are more than enough reasons to kill myself; the future, no matter how I reframe it, looks bleak to me. That being said, there are certain things that I cling on to. Friends and art, basically, but is that enough of a reason to keep living? I don't really know. Thus I ask myself, why the fuck do I keep on living? I mean, there are a couple of reasons; biology and primal instinct are some of them, but objectively speaking, I don't really know. There is this vast emptiness in my head when I think about it. I should also mention that a lot of absurdist philosophy has been engraved in my head over time, and that is indeed a factor at play here. I genuinely think that there is no comprehensible reason to explain the meaning of our lives. Strange enough, I seem to be okay with that. The thought never really enters my mind these days. The past is long fucking gone, and the future seems like a fucking joke most of the time.

I'm not going to say that I'm the type of guy who lives in the present. I try and fail, so I try again. That cycle simply repeats. Now the reason for why I'm writing this is because I don't really have a conclusion to this. I don't really have a reason to keep on living, but I do it just because I can. I was kind of programmed to do so, but still the fact in itself is absurd to me. Why do things exist so that they can simply stop doing so one day? Why does everything exist without the promise of eternity?

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