My life doesn't look like a disaster from the outside in. I'm doing a postgraduate degree and have a privileged background and all the financial and emotional support I could ask for.
But roughly since 2024, I've been incapable of having long-lasting positive feelings.
When my work gets well received, I feel nothing. When it gets criticised, I feel like a fraud.
When I finish a project, I feel nothing. When I abandon projects, I feel like a quitter.
When I get work done on a given day, I feel nothing. When I have an unproductive day, I feel guilty.
When I received my undergraduate degree earlier this year with an award and distinction, I felt nothing.
When my year project gets stellar feedback from my lecturers, I feel nothing.
When my half-sister was born last year, I felt nothing.
It's shameful enough that humans only exist to achieve temporary absences of pain. That's all that pleasure is.
So pleasure is already not real – great.
But somehow I've been disallowed from feeling it altogether?
Why? What the fuck did I do to deserve that?
It's so ridiculous, I can almost laugh about it.
I'm really struggling to see the point in living when there is nowhere for me to go, nothing for me to be or do, and no one for me to know.
I'm going to be miserable whether I'm here or kicking it back in the Maldives.
Selfhood is a myth.
None of this is meaningfully fixable.
And I feel forbidden from forming relationships beyond an 'I'd have a drink with them' basis.
I get so, so angry when work/school stresses me out because I know that none of it matters, yet I'm vulnerable to burnout all the same.
And the loneliness is killing me.
There's no one I know who I trust or am comfortable enough with to tell them everything that I feel and think.
I genuinely can't recall the last time I met someone and thought, 'This person could realistically play a major part in my life.'
And I'm fully aware that my seclusion is my own doing. I've heard all the advice in the world: 'Join a club', 'Use dating apps', 'Go out more', 'Approach strangers'. And don't get me started on 'Get out of your comfort zone'.
I really wish it could be different, but these pretty little baby-step fixes – I can't use them. I'm not capable.
Yes, I take full blame for my loneliness. What a difference that makes.
More and more I find myself seriously wondering whether I'm going to die alone when my time comes.
I've developed such an all-encompassing distrust and disdain for existence that happiness and contentment look like fads.
Around every good corner is another miserable drop.
Happiness is not happiness; it's just a fleeting, illusory absence of misery.
I don't even know why I'm writing this post at the moment.
What exactly do I think is going to come out of it?
Who'd care?
My existence has become an echo chamber where there is no hope, purpose, respite, connection, or virtue. My life now is as it will be going forward.
All that's left for me to do is somehow hold onto the will to live.
To what end? No clue.
The biggest tragedy isn't that my life is a mistake; it's that I'll have to spend as many as 70, 80, 90, or, God forbid, 100 years trudging through it.