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I’m laying here in this strange place and my body aches and my mind feels numb simultaneously. The television is playing in the background and it is noise but I can’t make sense of the words. I suppose it’s just the same. Those words don’t matter; they’re just fodder, entertainment manufactured to be a distraction. I want to read, it’s one of my great comforts but it makes me feel too much and I can’t bring myself to inflict any sort of feeling. I can’t handle them. Everything hurts me. Mundane everyday silly things dominate my mind and crush my spirit. I’m not meant for this world and daily wonder how much longer I’ll be able to exist here. I’ve been trying to overcome this part of me. I’ve felt this way since I was sixteen. There have been have been fleeting moments of light, of happiness, and I’ve tried to wrap my arms around them. I’ve tried to hold on to whatever it is inside of me that sees things in this way and feels wonderful, but it always just slips out of my arms. There is this darkness in me that overcomes every moment of happiness so they just feel fake. I know they are fleeting and I am so scared of their departure that I don’t enjoy them anymore. They just cause me to be anxious and sad. How is it that happiness makes me sad? Sometimes I can’t help myself to wish that I would have just died in that crash. This all would have been over. The hurt couldn’t grab me out of my life anymore, leaving me comfortless. It is hard to talk about this with people, so I don’t. I don’t believe it to be melodrama because I know the physical pain from overwhelming sadness and it gives me hope that people believe it to be melodrama because it means that the whole world doesn’t feel as I do and that gives me a glimmer of hope for the future of humanity. I don’t know how to live.

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If life is so purposeless, do you feel that it’s worth living?
Yes. for those of us who manage somehow to cope with our mortality. The very meaninglessness of life forces man to create his own meaning. Children, of course, begin life with an untarnished sense of wonder, a capacity to experience total joy at something as simple as the greenness of a leaf; but as they grow older, the awareness of death and decay begins to impinge on their consciousness and subtly erode their joie de vivre, their idealism—and their assumption of immortality. As a child matures, he sees death and pain everywhere about him, and begins to lose faith in the ultimate goodness of man. But if he’s reasonably strong—and lucky—he can emerge from this twilight of the soul into a rebirth of life’s elan. Both because of and in spite of his awareness of the meaninglessness of life, he can forge a fresh sense of purpose and affirmation. he may not recapture the same pure sense of wonder he was born with, but he can shape something far more enduring and sustaining. The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile but that it is indifferent; but if we can come to terms with this indifference and accept the challenges of life within the boundaries of death—however mutable man may be able to make them—our existence as a species can have genuine meaning and fulfillment. However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light.