I have wanted to kill myself a hundred times, but somehow I am still in love with life. This ridiculous weakness is perhaps one of our most melancholy propensities; for is there anything more stupid than to be eager to go on carrying a burden which one would gladly throw away, to loathe one’s very being and yet to hold fast, to fondle the snake that devours us until it has eaten our hearts away?
giving up isn’t always easy
I don’t know Camus. I feel like it takes a lot of strength to fight your innate nature to survive. When I hear of animals that commit suicide it makes me absolutely terrified that even animals would resort to death as an option over living in perpetual suffering… that there really is such thing as too much struggle. And that we are more willing to kill ourselves before it kills us. I don’t see that as an easy way out. I see that as the final act of self-preservation. We shame quitting or giving up as cowardly, as weak, as inadequate… and maybe that’s understandable when you’re trying something out for the first time. Maybe that’s understandable when you haven’t been keeping at it long enough. But maybe sometimes you’ve been trying for just way too long. Maybe sometimes not giving up is the cowardly, weak, inadequate thing to do. Maybe giving up is actually harder, especially when you’ve accumulated so much that is required of you to let go of. People who have so much under their belt, yet use it to hang themselves from the ceiling… I don’t know. I feel like there’s more courage in a room with a person with a reason to die than in a room full of people who don’t know why they’re still alive.
I don’t know what to do today, help me decide.
Should I cut myself open and pour my heart on these pages? Or should I sit here and do nothing, nobody’s asking anything of me afterall.
Should I jump off the cliff that has my heart beating so and develop my wings on the way down? Or should I step back from the edge, and let the others deal with this thing called courage.
Should I stare back at the existential abyss that haunts me so and try desperately to grab from it a sense of self? Or should I keep walking half-asleep, only half-looking at it every now and then in times in which I can’t help doing anything but?
Should I kill myself or have a cup of coffee?
I know myself,
so why push myself?
Had a good conversation with 1van yesterday about how we feel about the world and our role in it and thinking differently and living by example. It ended really well with the only question I did not have much of an answer for. Thinking differently is great, it’s wonderful, but all great thinkers such as Einstein, they end up really alone. How do you deal with that?
I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s how people end up killing themselves, or at least go mad.
LIVE.LAUGH.LOVE.& hurt like hell in the process
Real women aren't perfect; perfect women aren't real.
vegan / wanderlust / fuck the system / how to love & hurt fully / words to live by / be creative, be amazing
I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about, but I'm trying. Question me, confront me, but don't dismiss me. That's all I ask.
Just trying to stay real & honest as humanly possible.
random post / funny thing called life / funny thing called love / writing / poetry / quotes
You think you know someone,
but you have no idea.