#beeba

I really want to talk about this without sounding crazy. 

Without judgment nor consequence, I just want to talk about what’s going on inside of my head. I romanticize the club 27, I wish I can join them. My only concern is that I haven’t made much art or masterpieces that would make the world trembles, by that I am unworthy to be part of such a club.

 I imagine a life, a life where it all ends when I reach 27 but that decision is mine to make. Sure, I can get hit by a bus tomorrow or choke on my sleep locked in my room and be gone by tomorrow or the very second after I am typing this note but that, that is beyond my control. 

I am getting numb each and every day, I stop finding joys in the little things, every day is just a reminder of my insignificant existence and prolonged burden to the ecosystem. Why should I keep on writing? What’s the point? I cannot come up with anything extraordinary if I kept on hoping this brain to paint the city in divine colors.

 I am so insignificant that my being here does not make so much difference with me not being here. To come to an end is such a brave choice, others see it as an act of cowardice but I beg the differ, for the soul wanting to break out of this vessel we have to tame the mind. Or, perhaps sedate it, to the point of lethargy. 

Suicide is part of my political philosophy class, a subject threaded to understand why the body can be overpowered by the can and the cannot, potentiality they said and that choice that enables you to end the body is an expression unlike the other. It is not about societal construction, psychological trauma, neoliberal depression, it is so much more than that, it is a will and a desire to connect. The being inside of the body is already dead so that no one can decide what kind of function and purpose the body serves unless it can unify itself with the mind. 

For me, I just want it to stop. Just had a perfect phone call with my boyfriend, so loving and calm. My day was mediocre, even subpar, not much had happened, my stipend was late yet again for another day and it puts me in so much anxiety. This right now, this is a good spot, a good spot to go before another pain smacks me in the face and decapitate me. 

I do not think that life is worth living. If I can take one moment to stop it, end the story there, to the night when I was briefly content with everything, not too good or bad, then it would be today before the storm comes for another day and it feels like I am covered in scars surviving another day of acid rain. I swear I am not built for that. 

Inktober Day 1

I just began playing Pokemon Sun thanks to my friend lending me their 3DS and game! Thank you friend!