I am running out of things to say. What am I supposed to do? Blog for the rest of my life? And say what? The same shit as always? I’m anxious. I’m semi depressed. I hate living at home. I’m 27 and feel like a failure because I’m not independent. I wish I could travel more. I want more out of life. I’m going to die one day. My thoughts torment me. I am too negative. I am sabotaging my relationship for superficial reasons. I have no idea what I am doing with my life.

That’s been the same shit the last 8 years now. Some people are so keen on spreading the hopeful message that “It gets better,” but it does not. It just gets easier to cope with…even still. Those people are able to say that because for them, things did get better. But for some of us, things will never get better. We are slaves to our thoughts, our emotions, our mental health illnesses. I rent and truly loathe those people who are wealthy for no particular reason; the athletes who do absolutely nothing to contribute to the benefit of mankind, only to end up the richest people in the world. An example of how worthless, unfair, and lost this planet is. Why try to change the world? Not only does it not pay, but it does absolutely nothing. Someone or something will come and change it back. Ask Obama and Trump about that.

I don’t know why my brain is the way it is. I looked into the mirror this evening, say myself, and thought that “It’s not you as a person that is fucked up, it is your thoughts, your mind.” But aren’t I my mind? Aren’t I my thoughts? I lay in cold darkness on the floor of my bedroom, wishing some benevolent force would take me away. But it didn’t. Isn’t that a beautiful metaphor? When we, pathetic humans, lay on the floor, in sadness, lamenting everything, wishing we would be dead already? Nothing in the Universe makes sense. Nothing has ever made sense, and nothing will ever make sense.

So what am I doing with my life? I feel like I am wasting it; wasting it in this insignificant town, being forced to make decisions about my uncertain future. Meanwhile, outside these imaginary state lines, billions of people await to be met, many places await to be visited. And I am unable to do this because I am a slave to the debt of an educational entity that its only purpose serves to deceive people into thinking that if you invest in them, they will make you more marketable and prosperous. I am a slave to a green piece of paper that has more value than the life of a person, a tree, another animal, a flower, a precious gem, and just about everything else that exists in this world. Welcome, everyone. Welcome to the world that we have created. You sit and moan, complain, cry, rage, and commit suicide over the status quo, without realizing that we, ourselves, have contributed, are contributing, to the slow but certain downfall of mankind. And perhaps this should be so. I am tired of the insanity. For me, everything is so much easier when I am on xanax. For once, my thoughts go away. For once, all I do is breathe, and nothing else seems to matter. As they say, life is so much easier when we are numb. And this is nothing short of the truth. I hope that you all look at this not with cynicism, but with a third eye, because this is the truth. These are no the random ramblings of someone who is frustrated with his life, they are the reflections of a human who is deeply affected by the constructs of society. Not even yoga can help me calm my thoughts; no matter what I do or what I try to concentrate in, these thoughts go rampant. Is this what is in store for me until I am dead? I try to change things, but it feels like I have no energy. And then, I am reminded that I don’t drive my dream car, live in my dream home, vacation in my dream place, spend my dream amount of money…and then I realized that I have become another pathetic puppet, slave to the capitalist ideas. And maybe all of these will always be just that; dreams. I have absolutely been brainwashed to the idea that if I have more money, I will have a better life and be better than everyone else. I don’t know who I am anymore, and I do not care to know who I have become. People tell me “They loved you!” when someone new meets me, but I have no idea how that could be. If they knew the person I really was, they would stay ten thousand feet away from me. What they see is a fake persona that has to pretend that everything is great, while my thoughts are slowly consuming me, killing me on the inside. At this point, there would be nothing better than to disappear into thin air.

I don’t know who I am anymore and it makes no sense to be alive or to participate in this life. I told myself today, while staring into the shower head, hot water numbing me, that if I had no people in my life that cared about me, I would have killed myself, surely.