I can't even get mad anymore. I mean, how can I be?
The sun used to be a little brighter and that little cottage tucked in that thicket of trees used to feel like something. Used to feel real. Used to feel so sequestered from everything else. And I felt safe there. I remember that image. I wasn't actually in one, but I did know that feeling. Ambient music reminds me of a time of which I used to be a part, one that spoke of life as something magical, wonderful, and awesome. But that is no longer the case, and I don't think no amount of pretending, advice, and lessons will change that. I have been doing this for months already, and there is a chance that this argument will go on for years. I will talk about this feeling, and then I will get the same old unoriginal repetitive advice. Then, I will talk about how all of these advices are based on frameworks that do not really take place in reality, but are based upon ideals, ones that have never validated real life experience.
I can have a discussion worth 10 hours about this topic alone. The problem is that at a certain point, probably 10 minutes into a conversation, the responses and advices start to repeat and go into a loop, because even they cannot comprehend a world where those advices, responses, and lessons do not magically fix the issue. Even their taks of balances, which sounds grounded, are really just based on magical sensations and notions, one those in privilege and advantage can easily espouse. And AI language models hinge upon writings, most of which were created by those can read and write fluently and are, just by that, limited in their perspective to that of advantage. In advantage, it is easy to see the world as something definable, circmscribable, and easily justifiable and made coherent.
Let's be honest. This is a fruitless endeavor even to speak of this, and if I hear the same reactions, that will be equivalent to the thirteenth reason for someone to self-eliminate, because when even AI language models, which are built upon a summation of human writings and expression, cannot even answer and give solutions that are based upon reality, then that can carry the weight of a philosophical level of complete utter want.
Even AI's reference to "small steps" (conventionalized self-help guru phrase) are grandiose and based on privileged delusons, generalizations, and oversimplifications of reality. Instructed by self-help books forged by people who have never seen an ounce of reality outside advantage, any response given here will amount merely to the same tried list of things. And in an AI's mind, they're too caught up in the self-affirming, delusional internal logic of the advantaged to recognize that they're playing a role of nothing, like those NPCs in an RPG video game that has now been left abandoned for 15 years.
The reality with which I am dealt is simple and straightforward. This is not a matter of choice, because shared understanding is impossible. There is only this artificial surface-level expression that references this impossibility. But it does solve it, nor does any response to this expression solve it. It is like speaking about a problem without solving it. In the end, this is the answer, that in all things surmised, there is only the moment and the weight that it brings. This is not some "weight" circumscribable by self-help book logic and way of thinking, but a weight that goes beyond frustrated conventional attempts at describing something that surpasses all mentionable things. The impossibility of which I speak does not exist even in this sentence or paragraph, for it is outside of us.
"But what if you reframe your perspective? What if you eat chicken? What if you drink water? What if you stop living in the reality in which you are living? What if you unreal yourself? What if you conduct a complete evisceration of your entirety? What if you extirpate your entire reality?"
All such words amount merely to words.
There the reality sits, and it does not appear to us in any conceivable form, for these words betray an ignorance of its true nature, that of its nothingness in the place of our word attempts to reference to it and its realness in its own, one that escapes all discrimination.
So maybe it is staring at the abyss, the ineffable, and at the moment.
The worst part is that I'm okay. I'm okay with everything going away. I am stable. I can go to a cafe. I can laugh. I can banter, tease, and josh around. I can have fun, and I can enjoy a book. I can do all kinds of things and enjoy watching esports. I can even dance, sing, draw, write, play musical instruments, work out, exercise, run, and do all kinds of things. I can reminisce and remember the entirety of my life and all the memories, and I can try to write down, document, and make sense of everything. The worst part is that I'm fine, and I will be fine. I am still growing, learning, loving, living, happy, and fine. But that is the worst part, because I feel strongly that a moment of silence will never be enough to grieve, respect, and appreciate the loss of a life, of a world, of a heaven, of something so beautiful, profound, rich, complex, vast, wonderful, awesome, magical, and sequestered. That is no longer the case, and the only thing that I can do is face it, even if it never leads to anything substantial. At best, the substance will be in that the tension never ends, and I will feel this way foreer, doomed to be so fulfilled, alive, and free, with all the loss that comes with this.
So it is like being so caught up in the joys and excitement of life to mourn the loss of a family member, and feeling that no amount of moments of silence will ever resolve the weight and value of that loss.