I know most of you don’t know me personally, but some might remember my post from months ago about my cancer. That’s not what this is about today.
I’m just venting because I genuinely can’t take this shit anymore. Every single day ends with me crying myself to sleep. The constant humiliation at school, in public has worn me down to nothing. I tried to kill myself once. It was fucking horrible.
Ironically, I’m almost glad I have cancer now. At least this way I can fade out “naturally.” I won’t have to put my mother through the nightmare of finding out her son chose to end it himself. She’ll never have to carry that guilt. I can die in silence, without adding one final betrayal to her life.
These days I wake up surprised I’m still breathing. I drag myself to school, endure the stares and whispers, then come straight home to rot in my room. The only thing I do is read philosophy, history, anything that might explain why existence feels like this. Schopenhauer was right: life is endless suffering driven by a blind will. We’re all just puppets, but some of us are born with broken strings. Nietzsche spoke of becoming who you are, yet how do you become anything when the world has already decided you’re worthless? Camus called it the Absurd, the clash between our need for meaning and a universe that offers none. I live it every day.
I no longer expect to wake up tomorrow. I just go through the motions, counting down the hours until I can lie in bed again and let the tears come. The books don’t comfort me anymore. They only confirm what I already feel: for some of us, this world was never meant to be a home.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending.
God, I fucking hate you.
I’m just venting because I genuinely can’t take this shit anymore. Every single day ends with me crying myself to sleep. The constant humiliation at school, in public has worn me down to nothing. I tried to kill myself once. It was fucking horrible.
Ironically, I’m almost glad I have cancer now. At least this way I can fade out “naturally.” I won’t have to put my mother through the nightmare of finding out her son chose to end it himself. She’ll never have to carry that guilt. I can die in silence, without adding one final betrayal to her life.
These days I wake up surprised I’m still breathing. I drag myself to school, endure the stares and whispers, then come straight home to rot in my room. The only thing I do is read philosophy, history, anything that might explain why existence feels like this. Schopenhauer was right: life is endless suffering driven by a blind will. We’re all just puppets, but some of us are born with broken strings. Nietzsche spoke of becoming who you are, yet how do you become anything when the world has already decided you’re worthless? Camus called it the Absurd, the clash between our need for meaning and a universe that offers none. I live it every day.
I no longer expect to wake up tomorrow. I just go through the motions, counting down the hours until I can lie in bed again and let the tears come. The books don’t comfort me anymore. They only confirm what I already feel: for some of us, this world was never meant to be a home.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending.
God, I fucking hate you.
