A series of dying thoughts

I declared honesty in my last post, so, with honesty in mind, I must say that I expect this entry to be a bit shit. There are many loose pages, bound within my little black book, that are yet to be immortalised by the internet. Then there are more in my dysfunctional book. I would like to immortalise them, although there is probably a perfectly valid explanation for why I haven’t yet done so. Namely, that they are a bit shit. But I shall press on anyhow, with the hope that despite my fragmentary thought processes, there will be a little cohesiveness.

If we start with the present; well, I still have a million little blurs rushing about my head. I imagine my mind to be a little like one of Kafka’s institutions; indistinct grey blobs scurrying around with authority but achieving nothing of importance. Just confusion. Do I write the post of now or do I write the loose pages? I can’t even make that decision. Hopefully it will make itself. That is the joy of writing, isn’t it?

Oh so rhetorical! This is what I am at the moment, a bunch of unsolvable questions. I want answers, I want clarity, I want control, but all these things are impossible. I hate to admit it but given I am a millennial, I do have a tendency to Google everything. I know the internet to be fallible, but there has to be someone out there who has been in my situation, who has thought the same thoughts, who has had the same questions. I find reading the experiences of others helpful, not how they overcame the problem, solutions vary so much between individuals, but more that we share the same problems. It is a relief to know that you are not alone. As I mentioned in my last post, I am yet to find such a report. Most blogs I discover are too positive. Maybe I am not looking hard enough. I don’t know. But I do know that some days I struggle with the idea that I have no future, and seeing as my grand plans were to save the world, I best give a little meaning to the short time period I have left. I am humouring myself, I know. As much as I love to imagine that this blog is helping strangers, it isn’t. If anybody should happen to stumble across it, it’ll probably just leave them bewildered. But I believe Camus. I believe that in order to continue with the absurdity that is life, I have to try to make it better for others. And how do I do that? How, when my master plans required decades, do I condense them into a couple of months? By writing? By voting? By traveling, giving my money to remote communities, corrupting them with my Western ways? Really all I am doing is what I want, feeling guilty about it, and then attempting to justify my behaviour.

A blurry taste of August....

It may surprise you when I say that I rarely make a decision with purely selfish intentions. It is difficult to be selfish. But there are days when I want it to be all about me. Days when I frown at the world, clenched teeth, a furrowed brow. I am not angry at my situation, more at the bloated folly of society.  I myself feel bloated. All the time. So here are a series of selfish posts about my thoughts on dying. Posts that let me continue my delusion of aiding others. The majority were penned whilst I was an inpatient, and I have decided to post each entry separately over the next week. A new post should appear every couple of days. Most are super short and super emotional; do not fear! August was an amazing month for me. But you'll hear about that later.