DrThunder88

Roll of Thunder
2002-01-25 09:34:03 (UTC)

Second entry.

I've been talking a lot lately. It's always been to myself, usually
late at night in Schenley Park. Obviously the "talk about things and
feel better" approach to life that most people I've met have adopted
is bogus if you don't talk to someone else. I haven't synthesized
anything good from my late-night chats with myself. All I know is
that my life is effectively over. If continue to live out my life
I'll be facing some fifty to sixty years of misery.

Now you're asking: Have you thought about committing suicide?

I answer: Constantly.

Why?: you might ask.

I answer: Why not? Why haven't I terminated my existence already?

That's a good question, a question with no answer...yet. I don't
know why I've trudged through life for as long as I have. I
constantly ponder the 'why not?' question, and I am no closer to an
answer. Am I a gutless coward? Maybe. Do I not want to burden my
family and friends with the pain and guilt that my death might
cause? Maybe. Is there some voice in my head that says my existence
is yet unfulfilled? Maybe.

Existence is insufficient.
--Seven of Nine, Star Trek: Voyager.

P.S. Notice how most of these diaries are depressing?




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