Thursday, July the 19th, 2007

If I’d penned this the instant the feelings washed over me, this would have ended-up being a much darker entry.

Lucky you.

It’s funny, I always assumed you have to be leading a pretty fucked-up life—you know, a living in the streets and being raped every evening sort of affair—to contemplate ending it; and considering that an improvement. But it’s not so, there are a lot of situations “normal” life puts you through where you begin to ponder the fundamental question, “What’s the fucking point?”

No really, just what is the point of going on and trying hard and all that rubbish when really, there is nothing to look forward to? Or even if there is, it’s not worth it?

What if things aren’t great and nothing you can do can really change anything substantially? What then? Is it then all right to contemplate quitting and ending it all? Even if, to the untrained eye, your existence still appears fairly normal?

When you have nothing, little to look forward to, nothing or no one requiring your presence, lack the ability and the will to change anything, don’t really know what you want to give, don’t have a clue what you want out of life, barely live it anyway, and go by floating along one mediocre day after another, have difficulty separating dreams and reality, oftentimes not even aware if you’re awake or asleep, … is it really so wrong to consider not living an improvement? Why?

What’s the fucking point?

I don’t have the answers to any of these questions and I believe, neither do you. Though I wish you did.

This is a printer-friendly version of the journal entry “Been on the shelf too long” from actuality.log. Visit to read the original entry and follow any responses to it.

Comments are closed.

8,941,077 people conned into wasting their bandwidth.