"The two enemies of human happiness are pain and boredom." - Arthur Schopenhauer
I find myself in the very spot I tried to avoid. I find that the time I have left cannot be spent trying to placate those I have not wronged. I have filled my spirit with guilt and anguish over perceived wrongs that I assumed I committed. How do you think one survives with extreme guilt with no avenue towards catharsis? Is one supposed to just stay in the abyss of guilt? I have attempted to right the wrongs I committed to people I haven't wronged. That ends now. As I said before, this life has been a steady run of bad shit with small and short bouts of happiness. One might look at my life and wonder why I feel this way. They can never accept that some people, like me are born angry. Angry at being brought here. I hate this existence and I have nothing that anchors me to this reality. My family would never understand why I took this trip, like everything I do nowadays, alone. I came here looking for catharsis and I found nothing. I will get the closure I need, want when I am no longer in this world. I hate this existence. This world and it's apex species are shit. This world is a fucking prison that I was brought in against my will, if such a thing existed in the nothingness waiting us all. I wake up wishing that I could set the mistakes I've made right, but I'm left feeling that this is impossible. I should have left her where I met her. I should have listened to my mind when I started bringing more people here. I wish I could erase it all, like it seems to be doing to me. That seems to be my punishment. I have often wondered if I am actually dead and this is my own personal hell. Then I realize that I don't believe in that bullshit.
This rum is making me write profane words. I drink more. Self medication is all I'm good for now. The numbness is as close to death a coward like me is afforded. I spend all day smoking weed and drinking. so much so that I have been lying about it to everybody that speaks on it or asks me. I don't care what the fuck this world thinks of me. It has shown me, not in words but in action, how much it doesn't give a fuck about me. The periods of depression are almost constant and the anxiety worsens everyday. I trust no one and nothing. Let me clarify. I trust people as much as a wild animal that is receiving help from a human. My species are the most vile and disgusting things on this planet and I loathe them. Not as much as I loathe myself. It is pure wickedness to live the way I do, but this is what the universe has given me. Sometimes I wonder if I still believed in a deity, would I be as fucked up as I am. The question though is moot, as I reject the idea of a deity as ridiculousness forced on people to control them. Once you cross the line between theist and atheist there's no turning back. If there is a deity, let me say here that they can suck my dick.
The rum is doing what I want it to, now onto the weed. I want to black out and spend my time as it seems it was meant to be spent. Unconscious and as near death as one can get without dying. After reading that last line, I see how one could feel sorry for me. It's a pathetic and pitiful way to live, I know. But as I wrote just a few minutes ago...I don't fucking care what you think of me or my life.
