When I was 17-18 years old, I had long bouts of depression and apathy. Thinking about existential issues, justice, and the fear of an uncertain future made my life a nightmare. Suicide was always on my mind, and if I hadn't been a coward, I wouldn't be on this planet anymore. I would go to bed in the middle of the day because it became unbearable to listen to the voice of self-deprecation in my head.
I read Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground, finding in the meanness of his situation, and, consequently, my situation, since I am an underground person, a bitter pleasure that bordered on hatred.
I don't know if I simply got used to it, or if my brain forbade me from thinking about it, or if the unknown future became known as a depressing but understandable one, but I started to feel better. No, not good, by no means, I still blamed myself, hated my skin, my acne, and my loneliness. But life felt acceptable most of the time.
But, as is typical of our era, long existential crises have been replaced by short, fleeting ones. From time to time some nasty thought about death, meaningless of our existence or about miserableness of my life would strike right in the head, causing short-form existential crisis, which can span from 5 minutes to one hour. In the middle of the day, outta nowhere, while i doing some daily chores, walk on the street or cook something, doesn't matter.
I guess it's just a reminder about pityfulness of mine, god or what have you humbles me, points to my place, like Saint Meeks said: "Never get up".
(I bitched out and wrote half of it via translator, sorry).
I read Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground, finding in the meanness of his situation, and, consequently, my situation, since I am an underground person, a bitter pleasure that bordered on hatred.
I don't know if I simply got used to it, or if my brain forbade me from thinking about it, or if the unknown future became known as a depressing but understandable one, but I started to feel better. No, not good, by no means, I still blamed myself, hated my skin, my acne, and my loneliness. But life felt acceptable most of the time.
But, as is typical of our era, long existential crises have been replaced by short, fleeting ones. From time to time some nasty thought about death, meaningless of our existence or about miserableness of my life would strike right in the head, causing short-form existential crisis, which can span from 5 minutes to one hour. In the middle of the day, outta nowhere, while i doing some daily chores, walk on the street or cook something, doesn't matter.
I guess it's just a reminder about pityfulness of mine, god or what have you humbles me, points to my place, like Saint Meeks said: "Never get up".
(I bitched out and wrote half of it via translator, sorry).
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