Always Half Empty, Never Half Full

Why am I unhappy? I feel like there are so many people in the world that would love to be in my position and would make the best out of life and live it to the fullest, and I just can’t wait to die.

A few months ago I came to the resolution that life no longer holds any meaning. I have no sense of purpose and thus nothing to live for. I decided that I no longer cared to coast through life, surviving each day rather than living it. And even though I have nothing to complain over, I’m still very unhappy.

I spent years trying to understand my complex personality and decode my character, tackling such questions as “why haven’t I ever felt a sense of inner happiness.?” “What am I doing here on earth?”

I realized that my type of person relies heavily on circumstance and external factors to feel a glimpse of happy. But those feelings of elation are often very fleeting. Internally, I’m not content. I believe a lot of it has to do with the fact that I’m a sadist and a masochist. I love to inflict pain and a sense of punishment on to people. I feel a level of retribution is necessary in order for me to feel some satisfaction. Yet I am also a masochist. To some extent I’m unhappy because I hate myself. I can’t explain why, but I do. It’s the only thing that would justify my self destructive behavior.

I don’t know how to live a life with Constant variables and equilibrium. I can’t understand what It means to appreciate life. I can’t accept consistency, security, and peace. Somehow I thrive in chaos and turmoil. I live for the thrill and anything less than that is boring. So I subconsciously or maybe consciously find myself in situations that are detrimental to my well being and state of mind, and yet I am drawn to havoc. I can’t live without it. That’s what gives my life meaning. That’s what allows me to feel something – when I am most stressed anxious, nervous – thats when I feel human. And when life calms down, and the stress and anxiety have dissipated, I begin to feel dead again.

Sometimes I wish I could give years of my life to the people that would value it the most. I’d gift my years to my family because I know they’d live those years to the fullest of their ability, thanking each day they’re alive. Me, I’m wasting my years away, taking them for granted, unconcerned and unmoved. Simply sitting around and pontificating of the next mind numbing and soulless thrill to embark on, because that is what gives my life a sense of purpose.

I spent so much time Ruminating of my next vacuous adventure to give my life more meaning because I’m not comfortable or happy living any other existence but the one that aims to destroy my existence.

People keep telling me to get it together. Get my life in order. The funny thing is that I’m the most together than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I used to be a nomad, living out of my suitcase because I never knew where I’d be sleeping next. My family refused to speak to me for 7 years. My friends used every chance they could to screw me over and my last boyfriend was a pathological liar and sociopath who cleaned me out of house and Home. And now, I’m living at home with my family. I’ve patched my relationship with my parents. I can finally say that I have a handful of great friends, I have the strength to not settle for bad men and stay in toxic relationships, I can afford to get myself whatever I want. The reality is that I’m very together, ironically almost too together that a part of me wants to break this linear pattern so I can feel less in control. I realized that when my life takes a positive turn I want to do everything in my power to invite negative. That’s all I know. I only know how to find myself in crazy predicaments where I’m fighting for my life or peace of mind, doing everything in my power to survive. Because ultimately I only know how to survive life and not live it.

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