I did have five glasses next night. It was disappointing. To think of how much poets have sung about it – how maby people ruin their lives over this. All I felt was discomfort in physical movement. But I often feel tipsy in my depression states too. May be I get drunk on my sorrow.
The way behaviour of some people change after drinking is suggestive of fact that they have discovered some sort of secret. I didn’t feel such a thing when I drank myself. But in some ways, alcohol is like my own life – big package, bitter tastes, letting you drink to your sorrows.
Once I finally determined that I’m gonna kill myself by next birthday, I started feeling relaxed. I was still suffering from my agonies but I was no longer struggling with them. Struggling is far tougher then mere suffering, caveat emptor.
I don’t think the world needs me. I don’t think I like the world a lot. It is as simple as that. You can even leave a movie you didn’t like midway – even though you chose to watch it. And I didn’t ever buy the ticket to this life in first place.
You see for people like me, reality is like four walls of cell I am in. And one just knows there is no way though them. One decieves himself with illusions, knowingly or unknowingly, and hits one’s own with all one’s might against those walls armed with these illusions. But the illusions must finally break down and one must finally come face to face with brutal reality that tells how redundant one really is in this world.
In Economics you stop producing goods when investment in variable factors start giving negative returns. No romantic illusions like growth, development, capitalism and other such trash will make you want to change your decision. It might be sad state of affairs but it is what must be done.
So often one hears people say that everyone who lives must die. I wonder if they ever think about what it impllies. That living is dying. That life is a slow poision – arguably the slowest of them all but harly one with least suffering. On the contrary, one that makes one suffer the most.
And there is more truth to above argument than a mere play at words. Because at some point in our lives, we do become conscious of presence of this poision in our chest, that makes one suffer like a invisible dragger already deep into our heart – there are so many names for this feeling – the great sadness of life, the existional crisis, the littleness of our existence, the meaninglessness of whole thing, but whatever you may call it, sooner or later you will feel it. At that point, there are only two honest ways of reacting to the situation – killing oneself or going mad.
Most of us though chose to be hyprocrite. We chose to live in illlusions and lies we build ourselves for it. I’m a hypocrite too, but i guess i am just not good at it.
I wonder why I am writing this. I have no wish to justify it to anyone, least of all to myself. May be i still wish to be understood, a foolish primitive need if you ask me. Whatever understanding ever achieved!