My Thoughts Are Pollution: More Scraps From a Notebook

by Noise Pollution

I’m just going to dive right into this. Once again, none of this is in chronological order, and most if it is nothing more than ramblings I wrote down in a haze of difficult emotions. Here is the first part, if you missed it.


 

Have you ever not wanted to get out of bed for a whole day? I mean, to the point of actually pulling it off? Have you ever been so completely unmotivated that every single thing in your entire life can be put on hold for a day? If you haven’t, then that’s where your inability to understand the reason why I’m terrible comes from. If you have, then you should understand my every day right now. The only reason I ever leave my bedroom is because I’m being (figuratively) dragged out by someone. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I barely even want to be awake.

The oft-spouted advice, “Just fight through it, believe in yourself! Overcome adversity!” is completely fucking irrelevant because the mere act of dragging my ass out of bed to take a shower is “fighting through it.” Getting something actually done is on a whole other level. Going outside is more like “fight through it! Oh, but you’re on fire and drowning simultaneously and the thing you’re fighting through is an ancient deity!” Doing anything that may put a permanent change in the routine turns that deity into a Voltron-like contraption made from it and various other deities. I don’t think “fighting through it” is a reasonable expectation. If I fight through myself, I get hurt no matter who wins.

There you have it. More goddamn bitching. If this ends up being all that’s left of me when I die, my descendants are going to hate my guts. They’re going to think I’m pathetic. I guess I am.

Other people are starving. Others are fighting wars. Others are experiencing the loss of a loved one. I just can’t screw my head on straight. I have no right to complain.


 

I still don’t sleep.

People who fall asleep normally don’t understand just how terrible an inability to sleep properly is. sleep is essential. Sleep allows not only our bodies to heal, but our brains, too. Without sleep, the cuts and bruises in our heads never mend, they just get compounded as the days pass.

Eventually, you’re left with a writhing mass of aimless, emotional bullshit. And it starts keeping you awake, too.  Then you sleep even worse, and it just builds and builds until it eventually collapses in on itself.

Then your head is just a black hole.

Sleep.


 

I think it’s hard to look at the vastness of the universe and not feel small. The bigger the universe is, and the longer it’s been around, the more insignificant and pointless I am.

I feel small just looking at the earth right now. Even disregarding the billions of years the Earth has existed and only considering this exact moment, I am still only one living being in a world filled with countless forms of life. Even ignoring the incredible number of organisms on earth that vastly outnumber humanity, I am still small. I am still one in six-point-something billion.

How do I become bigger? Why do I even want to become bigger? What purpose is there in leaving a mark? There isn’t one, right? We live so we can die. There is no purpose to this, no meaning. I read so much into everything I see, but everything I see matters just as little as I do. Existence is pointless. Accomplishing things is pointless. All satisfaction is self-satisfaction, because there is literally nothing you can do to become significant. Even if you could, significance is meaningless, too.

It’s hard, sometimes. Being here. Living. Breathing, What am I supposed to do with myself?

[I have no intention of debating religion with anyone. I will not ignore comments related to the subject, but I will not respond to them in any way. I will never find god, because there isn’t one to find.]


 

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