It hurts to think that the world will go on, about how small you really are
Also, what's the deal with space?
It goes on supposedly forever, but that's next to impossible.
And if it really does stop, if it really comes to an end, even if it's millions and millions of light years away, what's at the edge?
I'm thinking a void, either white or black.
It's either that, or there's nothing at all. It just ends, like a wall that's impossible to break through.
We're all bound within a giant box, or a sphere, whichever.
What if we go past the wall? What's there then? The universe, as big as it seems, could very well be a prison.
There's no heaven or hell. We all die, and that's it. We play make believe in life and hope that there's a greater power out there that'll grant us the perfection we don't deserve.
So I ask, what if I died? Nothing would really matter, it wouldn't even cause a ripple in this ocean of existence. We're nothing more than germs, algae at best. We grow from nothing and return to nothing, like a flame that no one ever noticed or lit or even blew away, a flame that eventually died out from running out of kindle.
What if I died?
People would be sad.
Is it so selfish to long for death in a world so unforgiving, so full of unsolvable mystery? A world we're destroying? Maybe it's better if we all die. We don't deserve life, we don't deserve death, we don't deserve existence.
I don't like doing it, but I do think. Whenever I think, I realize how much I haven't been thinking, or how I've thought too much (underthinking and overthinking, if you will)
Thinking is so strange. When I realize that I'm doing it, I get depressed. There's like two minds in my one. One is nothing but a commentator, and the other one is my main thoughts.
I think about thinking and then I think "wow, thinking is weird" - it gets repetitive and weird and it becomes an inception of sorts.
There's a part of my mind, I've even given them a name, and she says that all my thoughts are stupid.
This part of my mind is unerasable, since I'm not sure that she's a "part" of my mind. She's not separate from my other thoughts, and it's still me doing the thinking. What is she? What does she want?
She says I'm useless, then says I shouldn't care about what other people think. What does it all mean? I can't ever be confident, because if what really matters is what I think of myself, then I hate myself because of her.
..And my friends like me. If I shouldn't care what other people think, then of course I that means my own thinking is true, that I'm worth nothing but hate.
And then I stop thinking, because suddenly I have a distraction. She goes quiet, and all is well until I put down my phone, or turn off the computer, or shut my sketchbook. I spiral into a wave of overthinking and underthinking.
The underthinking is probably not as bad as the overthinking, but soon after underthinking I'll overthink (to cancel it out, to have a middle of sorts)
I overthink about the underthinking, and she thinks for me, I think for her, she pulls me down, I fall.
And then I think, "thinking is weird."
It's gets repetitive...
Because I've been thinking about thinking..
I can't say whether or not I have mental issues, since I've never been professionally tested.
I've seen a therapist for a while, but I refused to say anything to her, and since I wasn't talking they just pulled me out. It was a waste of money and resources, after all.
But anyways, on to another rant I suppose.
Let's talk about change. It's strange, is it not?
Change is strange. Heh.
I've recently moved, and so far at the new place it's quite boring. I do the same things I'd do if I was back at my old place, except this time I don't have any friends to occasionally hang out with.
Some people think change is scary. I find that it's more..
..well, I don't have a word for what I find it as. I don't exactly feel emotions very well.
What I'm trying to say is that I don't understand why people perceive change so badly. I always want change, I yearn for it. I have this unending desire to run away from everything and start anew. Even if running away indeed means death.
Death isn't so bad. Everyone goes through it eventually, I see no reason for why I can't control my own fate and have it be sooner than expected.
But there are ties that hold me here, earthly and worldly ties. Friends, mostly. Not so much as family, as unfortunate as it is for me to say that. I've vented to my friends before, I've brought them down and dragged them through Hell.
Of course I've learned my lesson now, I decided to stop venting altogether, but I found that without a vent the steam within me is building up into something more solid.
It's frightening, downright terrifying. More and more often I'll imagine walking down the stairs, picking up a knife, and ending it all. It seems as easy as 1 2 3.
But then I think "oh, but I haven't experienced it all yet", so I easily imagine running away, stealing a car, doing drugs, partying, hooking up, drinking, getting a tattoo, shaving my head; because what does it all matter anyway if the means all lead to the same end?
Got a little off topic there. The point I'm trying to stress is that change isn't scary, atleast not to me. Or rather, I don't want to admit if it's scary. Who knows what I'm feeling deep down, after all? I can't say that I know for sure because I'm not quite sure of anything anymore.
I don't know what I'm feeling because everything is either gone or buried. It's hard to say what I feel, and sometimes I just can't feel anything at all.