LearntYoung
Bluelighter
A friend of mine told me I would be capable of writing a book. A piece of literature that would matter to the world, that could make it and change people's lives. He recommended to make it a semi fictional autobiography. I thought I'd give it a shot, but as I just wrote a small introduction to it, I realized how dark and depressing this seemed and how confrontational this writing would become. Here's the intro:
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Every day is the same; I wake up, achieve nothing, lie to myself that tomorrow is going to be different, that starting tomorrow, I'll somehow change and go to bed feeling empty.
I'm not depressed, I'm way beyond that. Depression was just a phase. I'm now just empty, because of the many chances handed to me and ruined by me.
What's different now compared to back then? Why is experiencing this great nothingness I've created better than to keep running from it? My life has only just begun and my biggest achievement is already my own destruction. I simply keep digging deeper to see if the deeper I go, somehow at some point, I'll find a treasure. There is no treasure.
"The cake is a lie."
Treasures found, prizes won, they're fiction for the majority, created for a small minority to give hope to the hopeless. The helpless. Me.
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Shine your light on this darkness. Should I continue? Should I confront myself with these feelings I apparently have buried within? What could I do to make a change?
Help.
-
Every day is the same; I wake up, achieve nothing, lie to myself that tomorrow is going to be different, that starting tomorrow, I'll somehow change and go to bed feeling empty.
I'm not depressed, I'm way beyond that. Depression was just a phase. I'm now just empty, because of the many chances handed to me and ruined by me.
What's different now compared to back then? Why is experiencing this great nothingness I've created better than to keep running from it? My life has only just begun and my biggest achievement is already my own destruction. I simply keep digging deeper to see if the deeper I go, somehow at some point, I'll find a treasure. There is no treasure.
"The cake is a lie."
Treasures found, prizes won, they're fiction for the majority, created for a small minority to give hope to the hopeless. The helpless. Me.
-
Shine your light on this darkness. Should I continue? Should I confront myself with these feelings I apparently have buried within? What could I do to make a change?
Help.

