It’s Like Someone Who Quits Smoking On Their Deathbed

Or so it all seems. Completely pointless, futile, too little too late. I’ve quit trying to give intelligent answers to stupid questions. I’m done countering ridiculous propaganda. I’ve no longer any interest in fostering the solitary philosophical debates that plague the teenage mind in the waning hours of the night. What’s the point? What do the thoughts gain us? The more time and thought we invest in philosophy, the more philosophical theory we create to counter.

I don’t know what to say, the pain is too harsh and the struggle too fierce.  I don’t know why I bother and I don’t know why he does either.  Is it bad to sometimes think I wish he would just kill himself to give closure to the epic battle consuming my life?  I don’t really feel that way, but sometimes I think it.  I love him, and I can’t even conceive life without him, but I just want it all to be over.  The pain he puts himself through puts me through infinitely more and he doesn’t even realize it.  What do you say to someone who is wallowing in self-disgust for good reason?  He has a right to be ashamed of himself, but he doesn’t have a right to deflect all of his pain onto others.  The thing is, I know it’s something he can’t go through alone, the pain is too much for him, but who am I to take it from him?  I wish shit just wasn’t this difficult…

~ by fighterjock on 21 September 2008.