What’s Wrong With You?

Okay, I’m gonna fail some modules this semester.

I also seem to be in a constant state of depression and am spouting strange phrases at people.

My moods haven’t been so volatile, ever, and my need for argument is greatly increased.

I seem to have no direction in life, nor any wish to create any.

No, there’s nothing wrong with me, nor is there anything you could possibly do to help me. I don’t need any solutions, nor your pithy life-philosophies. I have my own, and I don’t see a need to change them right now.

But I know you will show me your truth, your shiny truth, the one that sparkles in the sun, the one that catches the rays and makes them its own. Our most paltry of baubles are precious gems when on display to the poor.

There is no need at all to worry about me.

Or is it because my displaced social-function makes you embarrassed that you are acquainted with me? Does it bother you to see someone who is unable to contribute to the economy and society you strive so hard to belong to? Would you be friends with a freak? Or has your tolerance for compliance been breached?

You say you can’t sit around and see someone kill himself, but you sat around and watched the deaths of thousands of people around you without raising a finger. They died, slowly and painlessly, drowned in the morphine of their existence. You helped pull some of them down yourself.

I watched too. I still watch, because I am weak, a small and powerless animal that can only mewl pitifully it’s complaints.

Can you help me? Boost me up from this swamp? Or should I be content to sink with you?

Maybe if you could only teach me to close my eyes, then I might be content. Maybe if I stop this struggling, I should finally be at rest.

Am unsure what brought about this sudden loss of identity and despair. Blame it on Nietzsche. Hope it is not teenage angst – thought I managed to skip that part of growing up.

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