Meditation on Thanksgiving
(This was written on November 28, 2024. A year has passed since I wrote this, and I may or may not be in a similar state of mind. I just wanted to share this with the world because the words somehow comforted me when I first wrote them. I hope they comfort someone else too.)
I am trying to heal. It feels deeply uncomfortable. I feel physiologically agitated. My chest feels weird. My body feels weird and disturbed. It does not like the way it feels. It stinks in here. I meditated and that's what I realized. It stinks.
I did not go two weeks. I was three days shy. It was not worth it. I only think of ███. All of my thoughts are ███ and nothing else. I have not done a productive thing that will move my life forward in 11 days. I feel wrong. This version of myself is hard to love, but I must do so anyway.
The problem with love is that it is an action, and this version of myself finds it hard to do actions that prove to myself that I love myself. I am very alone in this life. There is just me. I came to California on my own. I will seek connection because I need it. I still think of ███. I still think of ███, and ███, and ███, and ███, and ███, and ███. I am unsure if women are fully capable of loving me. I now question what people think of me. Do they tell the truth?
Today is Thanksgiving. ███ asked me what I am doing, ███ asked me what I am doing, ███ asked me what I am doing, ███ asked me what I am doing. I am doing nothing. I was not ashamed of that, but these people make me feel ashamed. I did not answer ███ or ███, because I know they would pity me, and I do not want to deal with the mental effects of that. I would be fine being on my own today if other people did not make such a big deal of it.
That's the problem with other people. They can just say what they want and never have to deal with how it affects the people they say it too. It's so annoying. I guess that's the problem with me too, because I say things, therefore I am part of the problem. I wonder how many people I've inflicted psychological damage on.
I keep DoorDashing. I am tired of it. I am tired of Popeyes and Wingstop. I am not tired of Jersey Mike's, but I am tired of DoorDashing. I like making my own meals, but I am just so lazy. Can't someone make them for me? Why do I have to eat to live? It's so annoying. I wish I could photosynthesize. I do not need to eat another sweet thing, or salty, or sour, or bitter. I just want to live without desire. But desire is the human condition. Suffering is the human condition as the Buddha says.
I would be an incel if I were not smart and handsome. I would be an incel if I were not smart and handsome. I would be an incel if I were not smart and handsome. I would be an incel if I were not smart and handsome. I would be an incel if I were not smart and handsome. I would be an incel if I were not smart and handsome. I would be an incel if I were not smart and handsome. I would be an incel if I were not smart and handsome.
I would probably be ███ too. A ███ incel. That's who I would be. If my life went slightly differently I would be ███, or ███, or an incel, or ███. Not to equate any of these things, but that's who I would be. Or I would be dead. Or a womanizer. Or a drug addict. If I were born into a rich family, I would be entitled. I would be emaciated if I were born in an impoverished family, and dead. I would be a soldier if I were born in a war zone. Or I would be dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead.
I am typing to pass the time, because I am scared of what lies beyond this note. I am scared of what I will do after typing the last word. Will I do more of the same? Or will I forge a new path? I do not want the same. But forging new paths is hard work. It's so annoying. Why is growth an uncomfortable process? Why is degeneracy so comforting?
I will be reborn tomorrow, and the next day. I will be a new man tomorrow as I am today. Yesterday's version of me did not write notes. Tomorrow's version may not either.
I just can't believe how uncomfortable it felt to meditate. To check in with my body. My body is in a confused state. I will die alone. Or not die at all. I am the only person on this earth who refuses to accept that death is inevitable. That death comes for us all. That's what happens to most people. But it may not happen to me. That's what I really think you know. It's strange that I listen to songs like "Fourth of July" or "We're All Gonna Die", when I don't even think their message is true, but listening to them still gives me some comfort because even if not all of us will die, we are all human.
I am scared of what lies beyond these pages, but I am not scared of death.
