Another year older, another shitty year of shittiness surrounded by shit people while I live my shit life of shit.
Its been five years since I've graduated from college, at the time I promised myself I would be satisfied with my life before thirty or I'd go to a cheap country with easy access to hard drugs, sell everything of value I own, and spend all of my money on drugs and what not 'til death. As I approach that tender age of 30 that funny bet meant to ignite some motivation in me is looking a lot less funny and lot more off on the horizon.
Ever since I quit my insurance job, I feel like life has been a series of short jobs trying to find the time to do personal work and get by, work at work, work at home. I often feel like a rusted gear, constantly being made to grind and turn in order to make some great inscrutable machine function. Like I exist exclusively to work the machine, to turn and turn until I can turn no more upon which I will be replaced by another gear. Never a thought to anything other than working, be it for money or something Im imposing on myself, I feel the shadow of the machine hanging over me, the weight of it's dark expectations filling me with dread at the thought of going on.
What am I living for? Like whats the point? To spend half of my walking life working to make some douche richer than they can comprehend? To grind day in and day out until I'm ground to dust?
What satisfaction am I supposed to be deriving from life?
When I imagine going back to therapy, I'm always struck by the thought that if I did, I would be doing so with the hopes of getting to a point mentally where I'm okay with spending my life being ground to dust. That idea fills me with dread, as though my mental health is really only important in so far as it can be contorted to fit the wants of the great inscrutable machine.
Even assuming my most positive thoughts were to come true, lets say I got my dream job, would that even make me happy? Years of actually hearing from people in this position tells me that I'd be ground down in the same way that I am now, ruining myself to make the operators of the machine unfathomably wealthy. Whatever rosy feelings I may have lingering about my dream job are, at this point, are no longer obscuring the negatives.
So, if my dream job won't make me happy then... what will? Will I ever be happy? Can I even be happy? Am I doomed to spend my life toiling forever, constantly in a state of frenzied misery trying to find some non existent path to a happiness that will forever remain out of reach?
When I was fresh out of college I considered the idea of that sort of journey to be part of the appeal. To walk a hard path in order to reach a hard won goal, the satisfaction of having really earned something!
At this point I look forward at a path with no end in sight and wonder what satisfaction Im actually expecting to get. What guarantee do I have to any success? What if the success isn't satisfying? Is all of this mental and physical stress I put myself under worth it? Am I being strung along by a society who relies on that sort of mentality in order to use and abuse people without their understanding?
I'm still walking, on and on, but I dont know why any more, I dont know what Im hoping for, I dont know what happiness Im thinking I might find, I dont know why I bother. Yet I walk, on and on and on, a constant lingering malaise and discontent clouding everything.
To another year of miserable unasked for life in a world I regret existing in!