All the while I thought I was dealing with something I already knew, something that was already within my perception of familiarity. But then I guess there isn’t a single sense of mastery in this world. You feel sad and wasted, hurt and bummed out, and you tell yourself:

“I’ve been here already… I know this too well”.

Then somewhere in between the quandary and hope, you find yourself trapped inside the new feeling of anxiety. At some point you think that you don’t feel anything- that the numbness has eaten you alive, that everything can be taken out as something that you can always get used to. You think you’ve become accustomed to the familiar feeling of pain or sadness, believing that it will completely alleviate on its own terms, on its own time.

You live in the illusion that once you get over it, the next time it visits you, things will be different. But there’s no such thing as freedom from pain. I guess that is something that you can never escape from. You can take pills or get yourself drunk, then pass out, but at the end of the hallucinations and temporary feeling of relief, all the things that sucked out the sanity in you before…will incessantly consume the rest of you forever.

I am not talking about my love life here, for I have none. That kind of love is a load of crap. It is a word that has fallen into disuse, something that I believe I have already grown out of (well, basically after everything that it has put me through). I am bitter. I am nostalgic and hurt, and not just because I have given my heart bullet holes from several failures in the past, but because I can’t stop feeling responsible for things that are way beyond my control.

The pain that I am feeling is the kind that you feel when you’re lost, and scared, and all that goes around you does not make any sense; when you feel naked in front of the crowd of people, then you tragically feel like you’re invisible. You search for purpose. You take actions and bear with the consequences. You live. But i feel like I have not lived. I can’t stop resenting the fact that I am useless, that I have no power to protect the people that I care about from getting hurt.

I am all burned out for trying to live my life for the right reasons. I am tired of searching for the meanings. Maybe there are no meanings in things. Maybe there are no meanings at all.

What kind of monster watches the downfall of another, and all that she does is draw a fake smile and be okay with it? What does it take to outlive the stigma of futility of someone whose fate is beyond repair? What do I have to do to live and be lived for?

Life sucks as it is. Even the existentialist laments his own existence.