Guild Wars 2

Sold all my accounts wow gw steam etc
Donated all cash to charity

Killing myself today
Pceoutbye

Shoutout to the real homiezzz

No more drama conformed 2016 rip miaze/verpm

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Everything seems so pointless and bland. Every view is bleak, every piece of art is a mockery.

I can’t even think. I can’t even cry. I certainly can’t work. Everything in my head is death.

I see my whole life flashing before my eyes, as if I’m about to die. But I don’t see the future. Maybe because I can’t see it; I can’t picture it. Maybe because it doesn’t exist. Maybe these slowing seconds will eventually tick until time stops permanently. I can’t… even relate how maddening this is. It’s barely even anxiety. It’s just… this void. There’s just nothing here at all. I hear this music, and it sounds almost beautiful, but every note sounds like it’s one step closer to the end of everything.

How are you supposed to enjoy life when all you can think about is death? How do you find purpose, joy, reason, passion, love, happiness, kinship, or togetherness when you feel so alien and alone? How … could you possibly convince yourself this is worth doing?

Is there even a goal at the end? Will all the suffering eventually pay off? How do you know? Faith? Statistics do not allow for faith. Neither does prior experience.

There’s always a chance that things may turn out well. But for who? You? Me? The rich? or the poor? White? Black? Statistics show some distinct results. Existence is barely hard work. It’s barely even an attempt. It’s blind luck. And it’s kittening bullkitten. I take offense to this existence.
I don’t give a kitten who orchestrated life and society the way it is. I don’t care if it’s people or some kitten god himself. The fact is that it isn’t fair. You’re taught that as a kid, and then you’re reminded of it every time it’s drilled into your head by another mass murder, another child kitten , another country flooded by poverty, or god forbid, an actual flood. You’re sold this lie by everyone around you, because either they’ve been lied to themselves or they are the ones who benefit from the perpetuation of the lie.

This world is so… ugly. And impure. I used to find solace in demons, noise, darkness. I think the reason why is because it never bullkittented you about what it was. If it was dark in nature, it appeared as such. The real darkness is right out there in the open, in broad daylight. The black sun is always up.

It’s moments like these where I feel like I’m vomiting out my soul through my eyes, my face is just a drainpipe that spews out madness.

These words are so… weak. Every time I look at one of these words, there’s no feeling of sentiment. No real content. Nothing even worth paying attention to. It doesn’t sound whimsical, poignant, melancholy, or even outraged. It sounds like the petulant whinings of a spoilt child.

But you know what? kitten you! I don’t give a kitten. I’ll be petulant if I like, because no-one else will be on my behalf. No-one will be as enraged, and no-one will bother even attempting to ascribe some sort of meaning as to why I need to feel so much of this kaleidoscopic noise.

I sometimes wonder… if I lie in this bed long enough, maybe I’ll just rot away and die. Maybe I’ll just fade out, like the end of a song that no-one listened to.

I have to be honest. Probably the biggest reason why I feel this way, is love. Or lack thereof. There’s … something wrong with my head. I can’t feel love without feeling a feeling of intense sadness. …Not at this moment anyway. I’ve felt love sometimes, and it’s … Well, it’s good. It’s great, even. It’s made me even feel in love with the world. It’s great to feel like you’re in love with yourself as well. But that doesn’t help me here. Regardless of how much I love myself, I can never get over how much I absolutely, without question, despise this world and this existence. I actually feel like if I really loved myself, I’d do myself a favour and stop breathing.

Love … is just another lie. It’s great when it’s not a lie, but most of a time, it is. It isn’t measured by who you care for, who you’d die for, and who you genuinely and above all else wish to be happy and safe. No. It’s who you want to kitten most often. There’s nothing beautiful about that. It’s not a romantic story that ends in the happily-ever-after you’re sold in the movies. It’s a cold, calculated game. And it disgusts me intensely every time I feel the need to play it. You treat someone as a trophy, an achievement. And then you get bored, or disillusioned. And you move on. It’s no different to going to the mall and trying to get yourself a nice new sweater.
Come to think of it, I don’t even know why love depresses me. It’s just another drug. You’ll be happy for a while, and it’ll maybe even make a decent amount of your life better. But it won’t be enough. You still have to be a person, you still have to endure existence, and you still have to deal with every kittenty hand you’re dealt. Does it make it better if you have someone there for you? Probably. But then you get bored of them, or they get bored of you.

We’re not built to be content with what we have. We’re built to always want more. And that is both what drives us, and what kills us.

I don’t even want that much. I’ve had these dreams… where not a lot happened, but they were the happiest dreams of my life. Most of them are the most innocuous and uneventful dreams where all that happens is something simple like me having my arm around you and talking to people. In one of them, all that happened is that we woke up together, we kissed, and then we got out of bed and just continued on with our day. My most vivid dream… I was in a hospital visiting you and standing next to you, and you you were holding our child in your arms, and you were smiling at me that way you always do. I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy in my life.

…But then I woke up.
..I can’t do this anymore. I can’t sacrifice my love for someone else’s benefit. I’m through. It has to end. I can’t deal with having so many cold reminders of something that I only half-felt. I can’t deal with such an intense sadness when the upside feels so cold. It just feels so utterly horrible.

This love story ends… tragically. I’m sorry I won’t be able to be there for you any longer. I genuinely do care for you and I want you to be happy. But I’m a selfish man. Unless I’m part of that happiness, I’m not happy. And I can’t afford to be this unhappy any longer.

Whatever happens… I truly hope you’ll be happy. I mean it. It’ll just have to be without me.

… that last part just kinda came out of nowhere. Dunno if I’ll send it to her. Either way, time to break up.

bloodvalve.4807:

Killing myself today
Pceoutbye

Please get some help.

http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html