Thoughts

Relapse

Honestly, I’m at the point here I’m realizing that no matter what I do, no matter what I say/feel/need, it all doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Eventually, I will be dead and gone and forgotten through time. I’m not Edgar Allan Poe, I’m not Shakespeare, I’m not Van Gogh. At the end of my life, my friends, my family, everyone that knows me at that point in life, will move on eventually.

Or they too will die, unable to share a shred of who I was, what I wanted to be, what I did and what I said. No one across time, until the inevitable heat death of the universe, is ever going to know I existed.

So, what in the hell is the point? Like, if I work myself to death, have a heart attack from the sheer stress of struggling to balance life and bills and relationships and bills and life and bills, what’s the difference between that and me literally tying a brick to my leg and jumping in a lake?

It will be the exact same result regardless of how I go out: people will move on, die, and any memories of me and my futile existence will be lost to time.

Now, don’t go getting me misconstrued, I am NOT suicidal. I’m disillusioned. I think it’s a thin line between the two, but a line nevertheless.

I don’t want to die. I’m terrified of the concept, of not really knowing what’s in store for me after that. It’s the reason I got help in the first place, because I was terrified I would do something eventually, that things in my brain would only get worse until the bitter end.

I’m eternally grateful for everyone I ever met at that place, I regularly speak to a few, and one of them is going to be my wife this year.

But having been off my meds for about three to four months has had quite the effect on things going on in my brain. I’m more easily stressed, more anxious, very much more depressed, and a hell of a lot more done with this shit than I was before I got help. I feel like I went uphill for so long that the ride back to rock bottom was a straight shot down at double the speed that it took to get up the incline in the first place.

I’ve not been just reset, I’ve regressed. I literally don’t feel like a person anymore and honestly think I’d be happier as a goddamn insect, because, let’s be honest, the whole goal of almost all of them is to mate and die. Reproduction is their entire purpose and then they die. All of nature is centered around this concept that you’re supposed to reproduce but humans took that shit to a new level and invented “society “, the worst thing to happen to humans since Prometheus gave us fire.

It already happens today, as evident by plans not kept and messages not read, proving to me that my hypothesis is correct: I am already and will continue to be, forgotten throughout time and space.

I’ve got maybe a handful of people in my corner who I can trust, who I can talk to about these things without having the police or the hospital called, but even then, why bother fighting it?

This will be my legacy: having slowly gone insane until my breaking point and watching as everyone else who knew me to pick up the pieces of their lives when I’m not in them. And those pieces, as small and insignificant as they truly are, are just pieces, they’ll get out back in their place, eventually. People will move on.

As for me, I hope I’m right and there is no afterlife. No heaven, no hell, no purgatory or limbo or the river styx, just sheer and absolute nothingness, like turning off a lightbulb, or, more accurately, overloading a lightbulb until it burns itself out.

However this goes, whatever happens to me tomorrow or another 40 years from now, it’ll all work itself out. In the grand scheme of things, I will be forgotten. And honestly, that’s the best thing I can hope for.