is it really that bad for you?

No but it really Express how i feel

that’s not hell on earth, is it?

Its not heaven either, also i thought you said i should quit smoking? Because i have a payment latter on to pay, a high price for a basic reward, imagine thining this is the best thing in my life, what a sad life, its not even funny anymore

As for describing my pain, i think i already said it above, now since i don’t want you to go back and try to know, i will say it here, its not that i won’t get love, or won’t get what i want, its the idea that i could and wouldn’t, its the idea that its my fault, that’s its my own decision im so miserable, the reason why i like birdman, is that he acknowledge this fact, that “no one will ever love him” that “he don’t exist” that “he wished that he was someone else just to be loved”, though what he did after this realization, is what made me love him, he suicide, it motivates me to care enough to do it

The only difference between me and my friend, is that he cared enough to end his own life, and i just developed apathy, just to see myself became a monster, i remember that when i was a Muslim, i begged god, “please don’t let me be an atheist, take my soul before that happen, please god, i don’t wanna go to hell, i don’t want to be bad”, one thing that he said “its either you die or you just live long enough to humiliate yourself” i guess i chooseed the latter, its everyday, would you let i loved one live like this? That’s why i wanna do it

I have seen this life before, my father, not leaving his room, paranoid, apathetic, not even caring about anything, he was 60 though, im still 20 and im worst then him, by worse i mean at least he worked and had a family, didn’t bother to fit in, you know how he died? i remember his head was on my lap, after he had a heart attack, we had to go to the hospital (there is no number for ambulance) so we went in a taxi, when he was on my lap, he was suffocating, i remember i was very uncomfortable because his head is near me, and i never get that close to him, when we got to the hospital, we rushed in, and he was dead, i had to fake being sad, because i just don’t care about him, im already heading this way, there is no doubt, i have a somekind of a defeating personality, i refuse to live like this, no one accept this life

The thing is, my days are numbered, soon life will be harder, i can lose my father retirement, or if my mother died, and i refuse to accept any less then what im already living, the only fear i got is that i became so apathetic that i don’t care to end it, sometimes i feel like i hate myself too much that i don’t do it, but sooner or later i will do it, the more i live, the more unneccessary suffering, the more i become apathetic and distant from life, tell me the truth, can it be any better then what already is? If so why does it feel like it aren’t worth it?

You always say that there is freewill, but when i look around, see myself becaming  worse then my father with no desire to change, my little sister is even more apathetic compared to me, my big sister has shopping addiction and smoking, my brother has autism, a low functioning autism, and my mother has something i can’t even describe, tell me where is the freewill? Why do i desire self sabotage and sadness? Why do i not wanna change? Im not afraid of death much, but life? It scares me, and at best i don’t even care about life, its not like im missing a lot of things, all the things i enjoy am already doing

I wish i just have what i want, not to be fulfilled, no i don’t even seek that anymore, just to get red of this annoying desire, i won’t satisfy it, never, on my dead body, i just need prove to shut up this mind “can’t stop the bad voices”

I just wish that after death, i have a very short dream where i cry, but this cry somehow heals, feels good, can’t even ask for anything more, everything is too expensive, basic desires requires a massive payment, a high price for little reward, i perfer apathy

This thing, its in me, i have seen it in my father, this pessimism, its like a disease that eat you alive, you cannot get red of it, a very few people that has it, (the auther of American splendor/ phillip Seymour / Charles bukowski) and i won’t call it depression, since that implies its an illness with a cure, what is the cure ? Death.