I can stare at the most beautiful scenery on earth, I can wake up as a teenager tomorrow, and have the best love story imaginable with a cute girl my age, and yet I'd feel nothing, or I'd be quickly reminded of the futility. There's always a hand on my shoulder that reminds me of my death, the end of my consciousness, and the meaninglessness and futility of life. I'm restless and I cannot find peace, I cannot find happiness, and I can't be content, I loathe the things I can't change, not just the past but also the vessel I exist in and how flawed and ugly it is. People operate on hope; they hope for wealth, popularity, peace, love, and pleasure. For me, none of it works to fulfill me. I've jerked off 30,000 times, and I've eaten the most unhealthy food, I've traveled a little bit, and I've had some friends over the years, although they're now gone. Nothing carnal or hedonistic makes me happy, if anything it makes me feel like utter shit and it deepens the despair. How can you say life is a gift? It's an imposition, one that lacks free will, one that leaves you chasing fleeting pleasures that will never make you happy, one where you're locked into a certain caste based on genetics, and one where everything withers away and returns to nothing. You can't win in life; there's no such thing as winning. We all lose, we all suffer for nothing. I think to myself, all these memories, all these moments, all this conscious experience, all for nothing, the fact that it amounts to nothing at all is so disconcerting for me, maybe because I saw death for what it was, young, perhaps too young. Death isn't salvation either; it's nothingness. There's no rest, there's no avoiding pain, as the whole concept doesn't exist. There's no refuge in death, just nothingness; it won't pay for the sins of life, and it won't be a relief, as again the concept doesn't exist.
