- Joined
- Aug 18, 2024
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From .club:
This thread is to announce my complete disappearance from all online spaces. It is not merely inactivity; I intend to commit suicide. I have multiple times been at this point, but every time I desist from writing anything or proceeding because I lack the energy to do so. I wait until I float back up slightly from the rock bottom of emotions, but by the time I do, I always end up insisting on living just to feed my ego. Therefore, I conclude that I have to do this now before the cycle starts again, where my mood improves slightly, I get drunk on egomania, I get frustrated with my impotence, and I go back down once more. I've seen this film enough times to know what'll happen after that.
For a reason, I can say that there is only two positive emotions I have the ability to experience: pride and infatuation. All of my existence revolves around either doing things in the pursuit of praise by others, or marveling at the beauty and tenderness of those I cannot have. I only exist to feed my ego and fantasize about the nymphs of my desire, and it is never enough. I always want more. I want praise, then if I get it, it's not enough. I need more. Once I've got it, I find myself dissatisfied with what I've already accomplished and therefore consider the praise worthless. I want more. I aspire to be more important than I will ever be, and even if I got there, it would never be enough. With infatuation —I refrain from calling it love—, girls that either no longer exist or exist as a conception (underage girls as a whole, as opposed to a specific one) become a constant object of my obsession. It is never one. Whenever it is one, it is just a manifestation of a larger sense of infatuation that encompasses all that relates to female pubescence. She is perfect, but she doesn't exist, and so I can't have her. She may manifest in ones that do exist, but that is still of no significance. I have lost all ability to feel love or even tenderness for any female that is not underage. It is a neverending obsession that has no limit in intensity. If I see one and I like her, I cannot have her. Even if I dared to force myself upon her, it would do nothing. She would lose all value, and my obsession would persist. It would start a cycle of constantly looking for these characteristics in young girls, feeling the urge of having my way with them, and in the end getting nothing. The obsession would still persist because it is not a person; it is a fantastic aura that only exists in my imagination and it is manifested as a quality exclusively in young girls. And because sex is repulsive to me on instinct, trying to possess them in the manner described would not only not end my obsession, but would basically destroy that quality of tenderness in whichever individual I try to possess. It's like a work of art. You can't possess it; you can only stare at it and contemplate. You are trapped.
It is in my impotence to satisfy my limitless hunger for those two emotions that all of my suffering is created, from rage to despair. To be happy, I need to love more than it is possible for a human to love and to be greater than it is possible for a human to be. It is the infatuation that is likely the most significant, because the feeding of the ego is only a response to the inability to satisfy the infinite desire for a love that does not exist. One concludes love only brings about suffering, and therefore, one needs to become devoid of emotion and exist only to feed his ego in order to not suffer. You have to suppress the pain of not loving. But you can't, because you always are devoid of love, and therefore, you need a constant satisfaction of your soul through a different mean in order to subsist. You get praise, then you're still an unloving and unloved piece of shit. Loving is impossible and getting the love you seek is impossible. Therefore, you need more praise, more ego, more ego, more violence, more supremacy of the self, everybody ought to suffer and I will have fun because I have no feelings and no need of love. And it's never enough. Love does not exist, but the craving for it does, so you need to suppress it, and you suppress it like that, but because the crave is never satiated, you have to suppress more, and more, and more, and it never ends. You have to destroy your humanity, and it's never enough destruction. You're always too sane. You need to destroy your mind to the point of delusion, and you can't. It's like going insane except you don't lose grip of reality; it's only the suffering of insanity.
In short, I find that the one I love does not exist and I cannot possess her in this world. Therefore, I choose suicide. It is a common debate relating to the origin of the universe as to how something comes from nothing. Nevertheless, there is a plane of reality we cannot yet explain in which, before the existence of space and time, and in the absence of them, space and time can come about. Something come from nothing. This appears to mean that, in some sense we cannot explain, "nothing" —as we call it— can create something. "Nothingness" has an existence of its own in some way, or exists in a different plane from where we exist. The only thing that I can hope for is, therefore, that if what I want does not exist and I do, then it is only by ceasing to exist that I can even aspire to meet her. It is not a person; it is an abstraction, like all which does not exist. If there is a plane of existence beyond space and time, or a plane of nonexistence, which there has to be given the creation of the universe, then I have to hope that, in not existing, I am somehow transported to there where there is nothing, beyond space and time, where the rules of our reality do not apply, as was the case before and outside of the universe. If nothing else, if she doesn't exist, and I stop existing, then even without all the cosmological analysis, I'm still where I ought to be in some form. It is at least more fitting than existence on this Earth.
Because I exist for the pursuit of something that doesn't exist, and my existence is only destructive in my need to attain it, I choose to put an end to it. I do not want to think about it, because I know that if I think about it, I will chicken out and not do it. Therefore, I write this now, because I know if I write it later I will not write it at all.
I want to request that I am not mentioned at all in relation to my suicide, unless it is for the purpose of informing an unaware user. Other than that, I request that no attention be drawn to this decision at all. In retrospect, I am dissatisfied, as with everything, with Anarchy, or All Which is Beautiful, but I'll still remark it because it is the most significant achievement of this existence of mine. If I am dissatisfied, it is because, again, I'm never satisfied. I find it to be at least remotely effective in projecting a message I cannot put into concrete words.
I have nothing else to say.
