When I was single digit young, I found it very stupid that some people killed themselves. In my naivety I believed that they did so because they did not like their life. Surely any life was better than no life at all. If ever I would get into a situation that makes me want to kill myself, I would run away, steal, do bad things, but never kill myself. Why don’t they run away?
Of course a few years later, I got what it was all about and still learning. And a few more years and I am not so sure that any life is better than no life at all. If I ask myself what is the point? the point of it all? I have no answer, and none, that others put forward satisfy me. Whenever I am stupid enough to mention this question to anyone, I instantly regret it. At best, It will be shrugged off and at worst, I will get to listen to a talk which will have nothing new to offer.
It upsets me, but also is my ticket out of depression. It is the last stage in my depression cycle where I accept my helplessness and insignificance and let go of all the bother- worries, questions, ideas as unavoidable, and absolutely not in my control. I am born again, with a zeal to change everything about my life. I have done it so many times, that I know what is going to happen next, how the cycle works, but still, it is a nice feeling.
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.