The various methods of shortening one’s life only lead to more misery. Nostalgia for the way I used to be, for the things I used to do, but I was miserable then too. In fact, giving in to my desire to engage in certain behaviors would likely make me feel even worse. It seems there is no way to escape this in life.
I’ve been through similar times before. I fail to remember what it’s like to get out of them. I find it difficult to remember what joy feels like. The moments of happiness I do have don’t last very long, don’t feel very substantial.
What I come to accept and even embrace in my cheerful days I come to resent in days like these. Responsibility, obligation–the very concepts that made me want out before.
My mom is depressive and my dad would probably just tell me, “Cheer up. Life is beautiful,” or something similar that he doesn’t do or seem to believe himself.
The music sounds the same.
I don’t know where the end is or if there even is one.
On the other hand, at least I can endure planks now. When I’m holding a timed plank and feel like giving up, I think about life. If I’m still holding on after all these stupid years, then I can survive a two minute plank. Feel the burn, I guess.
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