Insanity Rating: 10/10
Morbidness Rating: 999999999999/??
Read at your own risk.
I don't know why I exist. I don't know why I should exist. Why should I exist?
Once, I knew the answer to that question.
At least, I thought I knew. Now, I'm not so sure. Some part of me protests I still know the answer. I have things (I think) I like. I have things (I think) I'm good at. I have things (I think) I want.
"Don't think. Feel." — Qui-Gon Jinn, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace (and lots of other Jedi)
Frankly speaking? I feel nothing. There were some things I took to define me. Reading. Writing. Dabbling in insanity. Studying the chemistry and biology textbooks ahead of time. I didn't lose that, not really — but there's no meaning left behind. I don't know why I'm doing it.
I feel nothing.
Is that what I am? Nothing? Because I know I lost something — not something real, not tangible, but some sort of of surety. And if I lost something, that means I had something to lose to start with — only question is, do I have anything left?
I don't know the answer to that question either. I'm not going to give up the things I love, not by a long shot — but whether that even matters, I don't know. The only thing I know is this:
If I have to go down, I will go down wreathed in fire.*
Rant over. Nihilistic, huh?
*(Inspired by Starflower's The Silence, which was taken down and is much missed. Not only by me, I'm sure.)