I don’t want to live my life feeling nothing but this. THIS. This empty, useless, non-purposeful type of monotony and apathy. I don’t. But I’m bound, I’m tied, I’m stuck. I hate loving people. My bruises are fading already, and I yearn for pain, I yearn to feel anything. I want to cut the paradise I was forced from out of my skin, force it from me so the memory can’t plague me anymore.
My life is an isolation cell, every input is muffled, dampened, unreal. I feel like I’m sleeping all the time, and yet I’m exhausted, tired, without energy. I can’t find the energy to do anything. Everything is bland, empty, mediocre. I yearn for the heights and lows, I need to feel I live. And yet I want to cry, I just want to cry because it’s so hopeless. I don’t know what to do anymore with myself.
Camus’ Question: Should we, or should we not commit suicide? Is our life worth living?