"Life is a Dark chain of Events"

(Copyrights are mine)

Not a summer-appropriate picture but oh well...

Although this cloak of solitary fits me, and I have finally made my peace with it after years of struggling with it yet I have noticed some darker undertones behind it all. My medication works and things are quite fine, but I cannot seem to shake this feeling that my life is quite meaningless. I exist - and that is all. Everyone needs to feel important, to dream, to feel fulfillment in their lives in some way. To some it is a meaningful career, to some it is raising a family or traveling or volunteer work. But I have nothing. If I don't get to college to study to become a teacher I won't ever achieve the feeling that my life has some meaning. I did promise myself to go travel at least to couple of cities in this year or the next, so I would experience that, but I feel conflicted even by that idea. I'm not really excited by the idea although in some sense it would be a big thing and educational. I feel most comfortable at home. Also I think I might be afraid to get disappointed. If I have too high expectations of different places and they do not deliver, I don't know how I would feel about that. If there's no wondrous places in this world, and everything is just skeletons of the old world I don't know how to deal with that.

Reasons for living do not seem to be within us from the start, but we need to search for them. In the mean time I search, I try to keep my eyes closed - or the third eye closed if I feel tempted at looking into myself. Being aware of the gnawing need to find purpose is tough to bear. Even with the medication there still lingers the voice that questions my quality of life. The voice is more quieter and smaller, but it never goes completely away. I do wish to keep on living and hoping for something meaningful to hang on to, but I cannot completely get rid of that voice that makes me wonder would it be better to die and slip into nothingness.

(Copyrights are mine)

The only time I wasn't feeling tormented was when I was reading about Buddhism - years and years ago, about the time I was first time suffering from depression. I felt great sense of peace the more I read and learnt but I also felt that my artistic-inspiration was dying off at the same time. Suffering brings out the imagination; feeds it like some horrifying beast inside us. Peace leaves you blissfully empty; free from the chains that bound us in so many ways, we cannot ever truly see them all. 

Now I have neither of them. Torment is more intense when it keeps growing within without any way to release some of it out as paint forming into images. A cursed situation, when I need to work to survive, but at the same time the meaningless work sucks out all my energy and all my time. I feel tired all the time. Tired in some different way. Perhaps it is my soul that is tired.