I cannot think of the slightest reason why I should have to go on living.
Only those who wish to go on living should.
Just as a man has the right to live, he also ought to have the right to die.
~ From The Setting Sun by Osamu Dazai

A different perspective on life is what this is. It's not about being dramatic or suicidal; it's about questioning the meaning of life. I'm someone who is convinced that dying is, indeed, not a sin. What does it mean to truly live? And when does the burden of existence outweigh its joys? I wish to see it- death; the beauty of death, the peace of death, the sadness of death, and the... nothingness of death.

Death, the ultimate departure from life, is often met with disdain. Suicide, in particular, is stigmatized as a sign of weakness. But why should this be so? Shouldn't individuals have the autonomy to decide whether their journey should continue or conclude? Somebody kills themselves and the first word you hear from the petty people is "Poor child, wasn't strong enough". Why do they say that? How do you know that he couldn't live anymore? Don't you see? Don't you see that he chose to not live anymore? Don't you?

People who want to live can get through any obstacles in life, and that's spectacular of them. They have the willpower, a reason to survive, a reason to not give in to death. But what about the ones who do not have this will? Indeed, the stigma surrounding suicide is deeply ingrained in societal norms. Those who take their own lives are often judged as lacking in resilience or fortitude. But such judgments fail to acknowledge the profound inner turmoil that leads one to consider such drastic measures. Why is it that I'm expected to be grateful for the life I never asked for? And why is it that I'm considered a pessimist for saying that out loud? I am told it is incredibly stupid of me to not see the beauty of life. Too many questions, too little answers. But it has always been this way, hasn't it? You speak, people don't agree with you and tell you to shut up. You are told "You are weird", "what's wrong with you" and whatnot. Why? Because you think and believe distinctively.

What is the purpose of life if it is devoid of meaning? Every day feels like a repetition of the last, devoid of significance or fulfilment. Tell me, is it so wrong to look at the ugliness of the world? Is it so wrong to not believe in god simply because you have never seen him? Is it so wrong to be terrified of happiness?

No emotion ever lasts, not even fear. When one transcends the conceptual meaning of this world, they realize their insignificance in the vast expanse of the universe, akin to a mere rock on a road- nothing unique, nothing special, unlike what they tell you. Simply useless. A nobody. And when one day you think to yourself 'Why am I alive?' you find no answer. Why? Because there isn't any. Of course, this isn't true for everyone, some will say 'I want to live because I want to be successful and achieve something in life", others will say 'I want to live because I want to show everyone who criticized me just what and who I can be", actually a huge proportion of the population never thinks about something like why they're even alive. They just live until death comes to them. They live as their lungs draw in the air involuntarily.

Why are you suffering? Do you suffer because you don't have what you want? Do you suffer because no one understands you? Do you suffer because you are alone? I suffer... because I live.

We live to love and we live to be loved. Love is like muddling up all your emotions into one directed onto that one person, the love of your life. That's the idea. An idea is never a reality. It never can be. It is something we chase. We run so that someone can stop us. So that we can be told it is okay to rest now. But that someone never comes and we run and run, and run... and get lost. Eventually, we lost sight of what we were chasing. What do I want? I don't know. The concept of love turns into the reality of 'want'. Does he want me? People want you and you want them to want you. If he doesn't want me, how can I be happy?

So in a world short of love, I had to be wanted.
I was wanted.
I felt wanted.
Never loved, no.
But I was wanted.

Maybe people are happy before they die; maybe their final thought is they finally get to be out of this misery. People never die once though. No, they die slowly, in pieces, throughout life. Every day you are disappointed in life, a small piece of you dies somewhere on the inside. Every day you don't want to keep going, a part of you dies. Every time you lose your reason, you leave a part of you behind.

Tell me, do you think your life has significance? I don't. Last year nothing happened. The year before nothing happened. And the year before that nothing happened... Nothing ever happens.

Failure is not a part of life. It is, yes, but it isn't. We fail because we try to succeed. But we couldn't so we became failures. Failures are not allowed to live in this world. Society's relentless pursuit of success leaves little room for those who falter along the way. They are told they should vanish; they should die because they are what they are. Failures.

"I don't want to die. I want to try again. But maybe they are right. What if they are right? I failed. I have failed, and now I am nobody. I don't deserve to live. I can't live. I don't want to live. I don't want this. I want nothing. I have nothing. I am worthless."

I have been told I have the gift of life. I think it is a curse. It's a curse to live when you don't want to. I wish I could see what everyone sees. Perhaps one day, I will awaken to find beauty in life once more, as I once did because amidst the darkness, a glimmer of hope remains, however fleeting it may seem.

I have a humble request: if you have indeed browsed through my reflections, I implore you to kindly forget it. Forget it because these are simply the worthless thoughts of a worthless human being. 

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