#wouldn't last

[thoughts-of-the-unheard]

a recent interaction with a friend on a post about toenails made me realize that I wouldn't last very long if I lived in a time with vengeful gods like ancient Greece/rome/Egypt/china/japan/Scandinavia/etc. bc im just too smartmouthed like amaroq said I don't want to offend the toenail gods like a normal godfearing person right and I was like what are they gonna do, take away my toenails, oh no like that's the attitude that would get me turned into an antelope at best and forever roll a boulder uphill at worst I mean any other time im not the biggest fan of living in the 21st century but at least I didn't live then because I wouldn't for long

[liedtoyou]

Every time I see my psychiatrist, he asks me the same questions.

And most of them are pretty standard. What day is it, do you keep up with current events (ha), what building is this.

One of them, though, I always trip over, because it’s “do you feel as though your life has meaning.”

I’ve never answered yes, but I’ve tried very hard to play it off so that I don’t get in trouble. Like, “is it okay if I don’t believe anyone’s life has meaning,” or “does it count if I’m okay with it?”

Which isn’t strictly true, in the latter case. I’m just... hm, accustomed to it? This is normal. Or in the former case, it’s like... well, no one’s life has ~meaning~ from a global perspective, but like... other people have potential. Goals to reach. Relationships that matter to themselves and others. Potential to reach, or not reach.

For me, it’s like... I’m trying to be distracted enough to not mind the time until I’m dead. Which, again. Has been... what I’ve been doing for a long time. I used to think I had passions. Maybe I did??? Maybe I really believed in these ideas--I still do, almost, fleetingly, like it could be real? I know it’s not, though. And not just in a... schizo way, but in a factual way.

I can’t write a novel. I can’t have a farm. I can’t keep livestock, or raise cattle, or even chickens. I’m too tired. I don’t care enough. I won’t live that long, possibly. Probably?

It’s tiring.

But, like... I can’t explain that my life has no meaning and I’m going to die to a man who A. controls my medications and B. has the power to have me committed involuntarily.

Even if it’s relatively minor as a confession, it’s too dangerous to admit what I really think, because once I admit one thing, they’ll start asking me more. And I can’t lie on the spot when the answer is obvious to me. 

The only times I really believed in having a future--in my life especially having meaning--were when I was super psychotic, and now not even psychosis gives me the power to believe something like that. I think my mortality is too close now, my delay of the inevitable--boredom, time until death--is too transparent. Maybe too the planet. Maybe it’s connected; it really is too late, and so the life has gone out of me.

I just want to support Joe in whatever way I can until then. 

[thedigitaltraphouse2]

Wouldn’t Last - Lil Capi

[pr3ttyr3ckl3sss-blog]

Someday, you're going to have to stop being afraid. What good are wonderful days if you only spend them worrying they wouldn't last. That's kinda of a waste, isn't it?