Resilience is killing me. What this wonderful ability,
simultaneously a hideous curse does to you is that it makes you forget what is
imminent – what is of importance.
You look at the person next to you. He has lost nothing,
ever. And that stupid bastard continues to enjoy shit that you resent.
This feeling is deeper than envy. I don’t want what you
have. That’d be ridiculous. I want something that you can never have. This is a
whole new level of evil.
Then suddenly this feeling is gone. Enlightenment dawns. You
know that nothing matters. Peace is the ultimate way out. But even that doesn’t
matter.
Life pulls you in two different directions. You stretch and
you stretch. Until you snap.
Resilience pulls you back in shape. Good.
Shit.
You know what happens when this happens. You’re making
suicide attempts in the morning and vacation plans in the same evening.
You’re struck with insomnia. You’re too tired to fall
asleep. Even if you do, you continue to wake up in random intervals. And did I
mention, 24 is a wonderful age to start having nightmares.
You discover a new feeling then. You discover a whole new
level of death.
It’s not despair but hopelessness that pushes a man to the
edge of life to deliverance. At least this is what you used to think. But now
you understand – there is something more to life; and hence a lot more to
death.
The cause of suicidal attempt is even less simple than
hopelessness. It is in fact a hopeful envy.
Man proceeds with the attempt not when he sees nothing in
future; not when he’s convinced of the impossibilities. It is possible to survive
nothingness. What you cannot survive is being chained to yourself when
everything just passes you by. When there are possibilities, just not for you.
You’re reminded of that retard with his foot in his mouth,
who thinks he has suffered. You despise his innocence and loathe his ignorance.
If this feeling were to last, you’d make something of your life. If nothing
else, you’d make death of your life.
But resilience gets to you. It’s killing your soul, taking its
own time and pleasure. You’ll soon be dead inside. More dead than you already
are. You’ll reach this deeper level of death.
Here, you’ll be making suicide attempts in the afternoon,
and vacation plans in the evening. Here, you’ll go to sleep, whatever is left
of it.
The next morning when you wake up, you’ll take a perfect
vacation. No one will find you here.
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