i can't wait to live my days like a bummer with only the three basic needs in life; food, shelter and love. i would be nature's parasite feeding on my own mental capacity instead of the world and its vast conspiracies.
i suppose the only way to achieve that is to be broken at the point of no recovery, scattered to the point of no return and shattered to to point of no revival.
humans are creatures of habit. a small percentage of originators advocate the idea of change while the rest of us merely follow. i am rather pessimistic when it comes to change unless change is a solution. i try to overcome this pessimism by planning ahead with change as a contingency factor. i didn't do so well for the last examination. i will be done with school in march 2008 if all goes well. i intend to quit my day job soon (i hope, cross my fingers and hope to die) and laze around which i do-oh-so-well for about six to eight months before i head on to the real world again and conform to my destiny.
imagine having an enormous amount of time in your hands with nothing much to do. it would be cool if i had a partner to bum with and spend a disgusting amount of time procrastinating about everything but never lifting a finger. but no la, i intend to occupy my time by taking my driver's license, bury my head in books and turn a tv junkie.
i recently read james frey's a million little pieces. it is a non-fiction book about the author's struggle to managing his addiction to alcohol and substance. we all love stories about people who pick themselves up after a bad fall, at least i do. unless you're dave pelzer weaving fabrication about your own childhood. james frey's narration is pretty intense and he sounded brutally honest. he depicted himself as this selfish person who has given up all hope to change and waits for no salvation. he is an addict who does not blame circumstances for the person he has become. in the book, he mentioned his girlfriend whom he met at the rehab centre named lilly. i wish the book ended like fairy tales do but lilly commited suicide in the end.
suicide is a cowardly act. ironically, it takes a brave person and twisted courage to commit suicide. i would never dare slice a blade across my wrists to watch blood rushing to the ground. it is also difficult to give up all hope for happiness and hope is a survival skill. it is also selfish to turn on the people who cared about you. i think girls hardly kill themselves by jumping off a building. instead, they take pills and slit their wrists because the idea of your skull shattered into pieces is too disturbing. besides, the media hardly portrays such drastic suicides for women.
if you were in immense pain and have suicidal tendencies, would you commit suicide despite the people who love and care for you? if you were one of the loved ones, would you let a person who was under dire stress, has given up all hope, has no willpower to live, craved for the pain to end by the miss of a heartbeat, has a personality disorder and is perpetually fucked, commit suicide?
i think that the fear of suffering is greater than the suffering itself. i remember scaring myself silly when i had to take the nasty injections in primary school. the real deal itself wasn't as painful as what i had in mind. maybe, its called managing expectations, expecting more pain and receiving less so you're relieved and the whole world is happy. however, fear can be a hindrance. so, i must master the art of embracing fear and embrace fear i shall.
i am darth dyveeous! hell yeah!