That Sinking Feeling…

 

Sometimes I can do it. Sometimes I can forget about it. But it comes back. The darkness.

There are times when I am happy, and there are times when I am sad. There are times when I see nothing but beauty and light and love. There are the times when I see nothing, nothing at all.

But even when I’m happy, I can’t help but shake the feeling that this is all useless, that this is a pointless and futile exercise and I’m stupid for even trying. Because there is nothing, nothing but what I create.

The human race has created a world for the sole purpose of distracting itself from death. We have gods, religions, science and music and movies and food and food television and it all exists just to keep ourselves from figuring out that one day we are going to die and, whether or not there is another side, when we die we will be wiped from the face of the earth like we never existed.

That’s pretty terrible.

It’s even worse when we realize our vulnerability. Someone tells us there is no god, that money doesn’t matter, that looks don’t matter. One day we figure out that happiness, love, fulfillment and meaning are nothing but creations of our desperate psyche, drugs meant to calm and distract us.

We are the child, alone in his bed, scrounging through the darkness for a warm blanket. When we can’t find one, we imagine it. And it ends up being just as warm as the real thing.

There’s liberation in this. My happiness is mine. I can do whatever I want, if it makes me feel good and I want it. You can’t tell me what makes me happy. You can’t tell me what should make me happy. You can’t even tell me that I should be happy. I can be happy on my own terms. And that’s pretty nice.

But there’s still really no point.

I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t know what I’m saying, but I know for a fact that I will never be satisfied. Hopefully everyone else is, can be, satisfied. But they shouldn’t be.