Thread: My autobiography so far (Contains strong language)

Staring into a blank page, it stares me back. I realize my own desolation. It makes me realize that I have no motivations, reasons, to do anything. It almost brings me to tears that I just don’t care. Time goes away too quickly for my liking, yet I forget, this world is not for our liking, It’s for our toleration. Just yesterday I did my usual nothing; I sat on the computer and watched tv, while listening to music, that just was enough proof to me, that my very existence is almost meaningless- That my entire point of a day is to waste it. All I like to do, is get stoned, watch TV, go online, and play my bass. Is that the meaning of life? There’s got to be more than that, I look around at my friends and colleagues and they do nothing different than I do, but they seem to be more content. I’m still reeling over the fact that I’m a teenage alcoholic. It just makes me think, what kind of adult I am going to be. That if I’m feeling meaningless and squandered right now, I just wonder how fucked up my adulthood is going to be. It could be better than now, like the time that I can truly grow and expand, or it could be worse. Regardless I still know the ending- I’m going to die, We all have that in common, no matter what kind of person you are no matter what, you’re going to die. I used to be shaken by this fact- Wondering why even do anything? Why do we tolerate all the shit we take on a daily basis? And then I looked into it, and death seems to be the end of our earthly bodies. Our atoms and energy become recycled, and our bodies just rot. The only part that bothers me, is the minute we complete our life goal, we die. I couldn’t imagine being a person who just does what their told, doing nothing but living under everybody’s thumb, just taking it, only to die with a wasted life. It makes me sick, to be honest, I think we’ve been perverted by a monetary system and government, that we’ve lost sight on living our actual lives making the best of what we have in the one time we have it. I love to write and play music, and they used to just be hobbies, but my hobbies turn to passions, and my passions turn into lifestyles. To the point where everything becomes rote to me, I bore and tire quite easily the minute I learn something. People that are content with the same thing over and over for a long period of time, worry me. But the sickest part of it is I take joy in knowing we’re all going to die; I find some disgusting joy in it, knowing no matter what you’re all going to die. You see some of the benefits of not caring are not getting mad, or being public about your emotions, that nothing really seems to bother you. Since getting pissed doesn’t ever seem to solve anything. I’m not saying be the nicest man in the universe, I’m just saying don’t let anything or anybody let you become upset, I hear it takes years off the life! Well generally, I seem to be doing a little bit better than when I started; when I started I was a stressed out wreck who was quite depressed, felt lonely. Now I’m feeling… the best word to describe it is easy. I just feel so easy it’s not even funny. Not easy meaning easy to pick on or take advantage of, easy meaning like easygoing, carefree almost.

I think you are sharing something very important here - an important realization and discovery. Would it be possible to distill it down a bit? ...Maybe find a creative way to convey some of those feelings without having to explicitly state them? What about using the blank page itself as a metaphor? What happens when you write something on it? Is it something worthwhile? Did you write something just so the page wouldn't be blank anymore? What if you write some brilliant insight and then throw the page away? Is it still a brilliant insight even though no one will every know about it?

Interesting I have to say, I did feel the same way as a teenager. You did post it in fiction so i am guessing it not real? But it does seen to be a very real person and it very well wrote.

Lubu, I hate to tell you how real it is, I just felt if I put it in fiction, it'd soften my blow a little bit. Foamylens, I kind of agree with what you're saying, and I try not to add that to my writing, it's just hard to convey some feelings, when I write with feeling, you understand? It's you know, I wrote that to give me a reflection of myself, and I wanted to hear some comments.