Am I an addict to my own misery, to my own “mental” drug? Addiction is something you want, something that tempts you, something you don’t need but must have. Addiction runs in my blood, it is my blood; circulating through my entire body, through my arteries, through every vein. I can’t live without it.
Is “misery” a chemical that the brain produces? Maybe they’ll make a cure for it in a couple of years, take away the true feeling of being human. I think maybe that’s why we’re stressed out most of the time, we don’t let the chemicals run free, we choose to hide them, block them, build them up so much that one day, you can’t help but to explode.
I wonder how it will all end. How existence will no longer be. Would we have existed? My brother apparently had a serious chemical imbalance; it took him to his grave. I never thought much of the saying “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”, maybe it doesn’t after all. Maybe I am my brother, no one understood what he was saying, what he lived, that’s how things are for me. I am alone; I don’t say it for the attention or for sympathy. I’ve accepted the fact that I am alone, and that I will always be alone. Just like an old man accepts the fact that he will eventually die, I have accepted what I am.
What I don’t understand is that I didn’t choose this life; no one does. Why live being different, not being able to connect with life. Maybe I haven’t learned the value of life, is that my fault? I mean, I know you might say “well be grateful you’re alive, or you can walk”, but what about those people that do have it worse, and the ones that don’t want to deal with this? Do they have the right to think this way? If they do, then what makes them different then me, we both share one thing in common, and that’s we find this life pointless.
People remember you more when you die. Who will remember them?
