Twas some years ago when I received the revelation of my purpose in life. What was my purpose? To suffer. I had been searching for meaning endlessly, determined to find my purpose, my reason, my why. The conclusion was: to suffer. I would never escape this suffering, and even when I gained autonomy, worldly freedom to do as I please, I would find that for all of my life, I would give and give and get nothing, on and on until I gave my last. I would have to suffer under the hands of somebody, and if they did not make me suffer, I would go on towards the path of self destruction! I would cause myself to suffer- it would start small and insignificant, and it would accumulate until the inevitable. I would gamble all my money away for the cheap thrill, I would drink and drink until I dropped dead, I would bury myself in work until I forgot to eat and sleep, and I would lead myself to death! What I firmly believed was this: that I would die from someone else's hands around my throat, or my own! For that was my purpose and all I would ever be, a vessel of suffering! From then on, I wished to suffer beautifully, like a sad, lonely painting. But I have changed now. I have learnt many things, one being that suffering is never beautiful. The scrunched up face of a baby crying isn't beautiful, nor are the sobs of a desperate man, raw and ugly. Even our bodies in death are not beautiful- they rot, they smell putrid, and flesh is eaten by flies. What beauty is there in suffering? That is why we make art out of suffering, to make it beautiful and lovely and just that bit more bearable. But I digress- I realised that suffering isn't beautiful. I have thought differently about many things since then. I no longer believe that my purpose is to suffer- on the contrary, I find it rather ridiculous. Instead, I do not know what my meaning is… or perhaps I do, but I have buried the question so deep within my bones that I have forgotten about it. Perhaps I don't have a purpose- that, too, is a change. I am not a nihilist, because I think it's rather stupid. Also, I believe in God, but I also believe that God dislikes me and that I'm rather doomed. What I have found is that I have gained my humanity. Almost in juxtaposition, I realised this when I realised that I did not know who I am. What do I like, what do I dislike, what makes me happy? I have no answer for these questions, but the mere fact I even ask myself about my happiness means I am more human than I was yesterday. When I thought my meaning was to suffer, I continued life as a walking corpse, forgive the cliche. I've yet to live, not merely survive. But now, I want to live. And this realisation that I am human and I deserve to not suffer, is quite nice.
yousharknotpass
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
snowghoul
romaincrisis
