Meaningless

I don't know.

There's always a hole between me and everyone. There will always be a void that I and no one can fill. A gap called feelings.

"I see." "Do you really?" It all started then.

When someone rants to you about something. And then you end it off with a "I see", a common, almost automatic, response, the conversation sort of dies from there. But then, that person said, "Do you really now?" Then I thought about it. Do I really know how someone feels after such an explanation? Can I truly ever understand, can anyone understand, how someone else feels?

I thought that if I wrote, I could convey my feelings to others. But in the dark room, the film of Lord of the Flies was playing, and after listening to people laugh at depressing parts, it seems closer to impossible. Although the actors weren't really in any danger, but they symbolized the feelings the author wanted to portray. Instead of focusing on how terrified Ralph was, some people laughed at his facial expression. If we were in his seat, making such a face may have been inevitable, or rather, we wouldn't have cared if our face looked weird. Does this even make sense? Is this even important? I wonder.

I used to think, actually, I came to think that my purpose in life was to listen to people, to understand them, to help them. I kind of feel like . . . my life really doesn't have a meaning to it.

"What makes your life worse than anyone out there?" My, this person makes me think a lot. But there's actually nothing to think about, because my life isn't worse than anyone I know out there. I was often told that I was perfect. Smart, pretty, skinny, nice, and all those other things. I was told my life was perfect. My parents are alive and living together, I get along with my sister, I have a home and a place where I belong.

It's so stupid. That I want to throw my life away. I want to bring forth death, but I'm too scared to. Am I subconsciously aware how ridiculous I am acting? But I want it to shut up. I want my mind to just shut up. I'm afraid of myself.

"What makes your life worse than anyone out there?" There's nothing. I have no reason. Nothing about my life is worse than anyone's. Yet I still want to die? Stupid. I can't even begin to comprehend how everyone else is enduring their life, but they're still going. If only I could give my life away. I used to joke around with friends that we should tell people who have no life to go buy one on the internet, they're free (not really, of course), but now, I kind of wish I could put my life on sale. My family, my face, my existence, I want to give it all away. Everything but my thoughts.

I recently said to a friend that I think it's pointless for him to complain to me if there's nothing I can do to solve the problem or if I can't help him feel better. He asked me why. Simply, I said, because it makes me feel like talking to me is just a waste of effort. Later he purposely asked for help on homework, then later asked, "Feel any better?" Stubbornly, I said, "A tad bit." He asked why else was I upset. I didn't reply. Because it's pointless to tell him. He can't do anything to help me and my dream. No one can because achieving true happiness is impossible. No one can be happy all the time. Everyone has to suffer, and everyone has to be sad every now and then, if not most of the time.

Ah, if I think about it, it's actually meaningless for me to say any of this. Nothing can be done about how I feel. No one can assure me that I understand how others feel. I can't even assure myself that I understand how I feel. Nobody can completely calm my suicidal and gory thoughts. I wish myself they'd go away. There isn't a person who can successfully lie to me that society is always happy. The impossible is impossible. It's a fantasy that can't be achieved. It merely pushes burden onto others or just utterly wastes their time.

Sorry, I was wrong to say life is meaningless when someone asked, "What is the meaning of life?" I'll correct myself now by saying, "My life is meaningless."