- Involuntary Celibate

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Nov 17, 2017
Every depressive episode is just a reconstitution of past quandaries - the same vexation, the same despondency, the same angst, reorganized into increasingly bizarre and nonsensical configurations.

I am trapped in myself. Nothing is new. It is grotesque. I am basically recycling myself. I can't imagine anything more vapid than allowing the same old malaise to flood my thoughts without generating or consuming anything. Turbulent yet static.

My future is nothing more but a reinterpretation of my past and I am a labyrinth I will never escape, not even with death. Death implies a former state of living and I was doomed from the beginning. Barely sentient, my subjectivity limited to the basest of phenomenological experiences - nothing original has ever sauntered through my diseased mind.

And it's not just me - it never is --------- everything is an abstraction of primal human fear, and everyone knows already, and I am wasting server space by even deigning to type and post this thread. Politics and everything. Ideology belongs in the trashcan. Every historical event is merely the materialization of an innate human perfidy that transcends time and context.

Time is rigid, a clenched jaw, a boa constrictor asphyxiating its prey. I have somehow assumed the absurd idea I can free myself by destroying myself.

I can never be a person.

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