This is not a metaphor.

I long for the sensation of falling, but I dread the impact of the earth.

The Bog

When I stop to consider death, late at night before I sleep, my senses involuntarily twitch, and reach out to feel it. It is a thing of darkest green, with air that is stagnant but not choking. There doesn't seem to be anything to touch, and it smells of mulch and fuel. It's too quiet...and it feels lonely. This scares me. This terrifies me. I don't ever want to be there, and I don't want anyone I know to be there...but there's no way to not go there. If I never accept that, I'll spend many nights on the verge of tears, and suffocating in my own terror. But I am always just before the edge of acceptance...No words of encouragement, or assurance will push me any farther.

I envy those of strong religious feelings, beliefs, and so on. A person KNOWS they go to heaven if they are good, or KNOWS that they will come back in another life to continue working out their karma, or they KNOW that when they die, that is the end and there is nothing after that. Whether or not any of them are right isn't the point, because there is no way to find that out...but to them, they know, and feel it through and through, and that sounds like such a comfort, that I will nevee be capable of experiencing.

As humans we've made leaps and bounds in technology to make our lives easier. We created medicene to make our lives more healthy, we fashioned glasses so that we could see the world, we created telephones so we could always stay in touch, we created books, and music, and paintings to share ourselves with the world... But most of these modern things are unavailable to those without money... That's a bit depressing.

Burning my stage...

People think I'm dramatic.
Those people are right.
I wonder what causes that? Boredom? Sometimes I think I'm so excitable and depressive and randomly manic because at some point long ago, when I was very young, I realized the futility and pointlessness of life, then simply blocked out the realization. Interesting thought. If I had that thought around the time I started getting depressed...which I would say, although unchecked for many years, started around the third grade... perhaps it put this dark cloud over my life...a cloud I distract myself from by subtly setting small destructive fires in my life, and in my mind.

Well, I'm getting tired of my mental arson.
I haven't yet gotten rid of the matches and lighters that I scorch with, but I'm getting tired of it. Maybe it's the medication, but I'm actually getting bored with drama in general. I didn't think I ever would. It's liberating, and yet it's depressing, because it makes my world seem all the more flat, bland, colorless... It might be time to burn my stage.

I'm all over the place with this entry, aren't I...
Well, I can't say that I think life has a point, but I guess letting it grow into something murky and chaotic and lonely makes it alot more pointless. Yeah.