I don’t know how, but I’m going to unalive myself soon. Sometimes I get tired of being trapped in this body while life goes on, my worst fear is it happening after death. But,learning to live over and over again in a warm, emotionally emaciated corpse is scarier than finding out what’s next trapped in a cold, unresponsive one. Increasingly tired each time. Each time the curiosity and instinct that gives us will, depletes and gives way for the movie scene moment of weakness when one gives in. And each time it gives, if you’re lucky, you get to see the stakes rise the next time.. the stakes rise and eventually there’s no topping it, only wallowing in an irretrievable state. Each time the comfort and fear rest on the conscience like a devil and an angel on either shoulder. They tug and pull and slowly undo any remnants of togetherness, until acceptance of depletion is inevitable. Enough is enough of philosophical anecdotes and melodramatic human outpourings. There’s no outlet or support system in the world for those trapped in another world internally, a world that’s revolved on all the wrong things on the real one outside. It confines you, lessens then worsens, it leaves you with its company or in fear of it. Acceptance of it is the key to both healing or quitting. There’s no formula for how to do either. Its eternal and ever changing, and it’s enough. What will my last words be? Who will be the last person to talk to me? Will I change my mind when instinct gives way? How will I go if not at my own hand? There’s no way to live and wonder, its irreparable even to attempt so. The part with the lasts, is inevitable. That’s all that’s promised, death . The premise of meaningful human life is futile, a doomed process from the start. Giving conscience to a self deprecating animal is all we are. Not this day, not this body I’m in and not the life I’ve led. It’s all going on on a spinning orb in a great big nothing. I’m considering, of course, rebuking it as is the routine and animal will. Maybe it’s a life on a big spinning irrelevant orb I’ll fulfill.. it’s not that I don’t have the infantile urge for it to be so, since it’s inevitable to have my lasts. Maybe.