I think I’ve reached this weird plateau of nihilism and passive suicidal ideation in the absence of really profound depressive feelings. And I think it’s because I don’t know what I’m doing with my life??
I think humans as a whole need one of two things to sustain life: happiness or sense of meaning. Hopefully they go hand in hand when things are going well. And I’ve started to understand that I don’t have either of those things. I guess even though i has really terrible depressive periods in the past, i was able to enjoy things when I felt less bad. There were things that sparked passion in me. Something like a drive? And being excited about these things brought a sense of fulfillment. But now, this loss of interest and passion won’t go away. And I think that was the driving force for me to keep fighting.
On the other side of the coin, I don’t think there’s any meaning in my life. No purpose. I’ve always struggled with that. For most of my life, my purpose in life was to serve others. Because if I can’t be happy on my own, making other people happy might rub some of that off to me. And honestly, I feel like there’s really no reason for me to be here. My existence is just a blip in the continuum of time. Nothing I do has any real impact. And it sounds so dramatic and stupid.
So if I can’t be happy and I don’t have a purpose, what am I still doing here? Other than the fear of what comes after death? It’s ridiculous that I’m almost in my thirties and I still don’t know what im doing on this planet. I thought I knew a long time ago, but I guess I don’t anymore. I don’t know if I lost it somewhere along the way or maybe I never knew from the start.