What is it like to wake up every morning and pretend that you aren’t dying?
I don't pretend I'm not dying, we all are. I completely accept that I will one day have to face the fact that I'm going to stop breathing. It's not something I like to think about at great length but we can't deny it will. However what it is like to live feeling like you are already dead? What is true happiness? Will I ever stop getting by and actually living? No matter how hard I try it just never seems attainable. What forces are against me? Why am I so feverishly against myself? After various readings I've concluded to be against psychotherapy...many philosophers have labeled it poisonous and until others influence me to believe otherwise I am now whole heartedly contrary to it. This is one of my various downfalls...I am so easily influenced, unable to formulate my own opinions. I do try, but they are quickly torn down. I don't know where I am getting it and I continue to paint but I don't know where thats getting at either.
What’s the difference between ‘living’ and ‘existing?’
I spend a large portion of my life just existing. Skating along and doing whatever anyone tells me I guess. I mean I don't feel I consciously do whatever anyone tells me, but when I take a moment to think about it than I must right? I mean I am persuaded by everyone else's opinions- both those around me and those in the media, magazines, books etc. Its a crazy type of existence- never knowing what to think, hopping along from one idea to the next. Can't someone just give me a clear cut formula... can there not be one channel to live by? Living is finding yourself, developing your identity, and learning to get through obstacles. All things I seem incapable of doing. As previously stated, I do try, I also pretend, but I always fall again. Like Munch I paint this soul...but how much longer can I paint it? Never something new to add on, a repetitive image..so morbid, loosing its beauty. What is the point when life is so bleak, when all one does is question themselves. When they just wish they could be like someone else and say whatever is on their minds and let a personality shine through. When you wish you could be like someone close to you and get jealous when you feel they are stealing away your other friends lively, fun, and full spirited selves. When they are smarter and easy going. Perhaps if I had fame and money than nothing could touch me, I would be above all the regulars and jealously would be their turn to keep. Cruel that is to say but when all else fails you just don't know what to think. Than again fame...me? How laughable. None of the sort could ever be possible for an individual so incapable of anything at all. Wanting so bad what I see others have and already concluding it will never be me...how sad, what then is there to live for? A tiny, thin, unthreading string keeps me going somehow...but something has got to change. Time is running out....the screams of food deprivation call my name to succumb into bone and retreat back into a place I will exist, be known and cared for by others. Is love all she desires?
I spend a large portion of my life just existing. Skating along and doing whatever anyone tells me I guess. I mean I don't feel I consciously do whatever anyone tells me, but when I take a moment to think about it than I must right? I mean I am persuaded by everyone else's opinions- both those around me and those in the media, magazines, books etc. Its a crazy type of existence- never knowing what to think, hopping along from one idea to the next. Can't someone just give me a clear cut formula... can there not be one channel to live by? Living is finding yourself, developing your identity, and learning to get through obstacles. All things I seem incapable of doing. As previously stated, I do try, I also pretend, but I always fall again. Like Munch I paint this soul...but how much longer can I paint it? Never something new to add on, a repetitive image..so morbid, loosing its beauty. What is the point when life is so bleak, when all one does is question themselves. When they just wish they could be like someone else and say whatever is on their minds and let a personality shine through. When you wish you could be like someone close to you and get jealous when you feel they are stealing away your other friends lively, fun, and full spirited selves. When they are smarter and easy going. Perhaps if I had fame and money than nothing could touch me, I would be above all the regulars and jealously would be their turn to keep. Cruel that is to say but when all else fails you just don't know what to think. Than again fame...me? How laughable. None of the sort could ever be possible for an individual so incapable of anything at all. Wanting so bad what I see others have and already concluding it will never be me...how sad, what then is there to live for? A tiny, thin, unthreading string keeps me going somehow...but something has got to change. Time is running out....the screams of food deprivation call my name to succumb into bone and retreat back into a place I will exist, be known and cared for by others. Is love all she desires?
How do I paint that? Just like I paint the rest of my soul...dark, not much else to add.
I do not really know, but in the mean time I shall continue.
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