A dark voice whispers in my ear, the quiet words resonate through my empty head. It tells me how ugly I am, how I'm such a failure and disgrace. It cuts me to the core; I make the wounds on my pale arms deeper to compensate for the unimaginable pain. I hate it when no one understands the pain of depression, physically and mentally. It's not just a phase or cheap cry for attention. Well, perhaps for some it is, but for me it is so much more. It's so hard to explain in words unless you've actually felt it. I just wish I could have some ambition or motivation in my life that isn't produced by a pill.
Every time I think about getting something done the voice whispers in my ear that it won't matter anyway. If we all die in the end then who will care if I finished my homework or even completed high school and college. No one will because eventually we turn into faded dust, long forgotten. Whenever I say this to my therapist she always replies the same way. She says yes perhaps that is true but if so many other people can live their lives happily with that knowledge why can't you? Indeed, why not? What is so wrong with me? I am just too weak for this world, undeserving to live because I throw away my gift of life.
I'm so scared of the thought that one day, probably soon, I will cease to exist. My ego, my consciousness, and everything and everyone I ever loved will be gone, lost for all times. I fear death yet crave it. The blissful ignorance of oblivion is so very tempting. I honestly don't believe in the concept of heaven at all. I think it developed over the years by the catholic church who got money from peasants by telling them their soul will be damned if they don't have a piece of paper from the church to cleanse their sins.
I believe it developed from various peoples ingesting psychoactive plants and receiving euphoria and understanding of the world. From personal experience I can validate these feelings. There is a sense of being in another world. Something alien and beautiful yet completely real to all the senses. I even believed I talked to god once on a very high dosage of an unnamed substance. Back then they had no idea about concept of the self, ego loss, or psychoactive experiences. So what better conclusion could they come up with other than that they had visited a spiritual realm. I must say I find it most intriguing that the Salem witch trials occurred at the same time the rye grains for their bread became infected with a mold that basically produces LSD. Perhaps that's why some of the women said that they felt like they could fly.