Hatred
The things written below are straight out of my journal, without much editing. For some reason or the other I was really angry and frustrated and sad about everything. You can probably see that down below. I don't really know why I'm posting this on the internet, but call this a gut feeling. Who knows maybe someone might resonate with it. So enjoy my nihilism and teenage angst at it's peak.A lot of the time when I'm home I tend to hate myself, I become lazy, unproductive, I feel like I've going back to my old habits I've worked so hard to get rid of. Rotting away in my bed watching stuff on my phone doesn't seem as bad and that freaks me out I suppose. I can't help but look around and hate everything for the way it is. Sometimes I'll look at people and I just can't understand anything. How can these people go about their lives knowing that in the end it will amount to nothing. How can they be okay with their own insignificance? It gets worse when I talk with older people. How can they stare at reality and choose to be content with their own lives, how can they choose too just settle down and be okay with everything. How can they be so peaceful and happy? How dare they? Are they fucking blind?
Deep down the hatred arises from jealousy I believe. I'm jealous of their happiness, their ability to accept the nature of reality and the idea of their own mortality. Despite all the hopelessness and death looming over their heads people seem happy. They laugh around with friends, they are kind to one another. These actions seem to come from their instinct and it seems like it has this sense of purity to them I suppose. Some times I feel like I can never be like that for I can never look away from all the horror. Who knows, maybe ignorance truly is bliss.
I feel as if everything I say and do is to build this sort of mask, this version of who I want to be. Beneath the mask is this endless stream of hatred towards reality itself. In the end I'm just a child terrified of his own insignificance. Everything I do is this desperate attempt to find meaning. Why the fuck am I here only to die and to be forgotten eventually in the end. Why does everything exist only to be destroyed one day. I just can't seem to wrap my head around any of these things. Sometimes I think all of this is just a phase. It's some teenage angst bullshit but I feel like the frustrations seem very justified.
Why would something so important like the meaning and purpose of existence seem so unexplainable by logic and reason. Sure there are many religions and many philosophies that try to decipher these things. To me all of them seem like this facade to turn people away from reality. Honestly at this point the fact that there are so many of them means no one really knows anything. I simply can't seem to understand or come to terms with the idea of death. I just can't seem to understand or imagine what it would be like to stop existing, to lose consciousness. It's like sleep but everything is turned off for real this time.
If the universe will cease to exist one day. It would be like we weren't even born. Why does all of it feel like this sick and twisted joke. Sometimes when I really think about it I feel like this is the reason why I'm so obsessed with making art. If I can create something out of my mind, out of my consciousness that makes other people feel something, its as if my consciousness is living through them. In other words it's my futile attempt at immortality.