i think this is possibly the worst i've ever felt in my entire life, which is saying a lot. i'm so miserable. i hate whining and bitching about stupid shit because it's fucking annoying and nobody wants to hear about my problems but uh here i am i guess. i've reached this point where i really don't see the point to trying anymore. i just wonder what would happen after my death. how would i be found? let's say i died at night and was found in the morning... would i look like myself? would i be laying there peacefully, looking as if i was merely sleeping, or would my body be stiff from rigor mortis, marbled with lividity? i don't care if my parents find me stiffened up like roadkill but the idea of my little brother seeing me in such a state is enough to make me somewhat reconsider the idea of suicide. not completely, but just a little. thinking about how much my death would affect others makes me think about it a little harder, too. all my friends are just as mentally fucked as i am, and we've all established the fact that if any of us were to die, the rest of us would go down like fuckin dominoes. the thing is though, my life simply doesn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things. nobody's does and nobody's will. a few hundred years from now, nobody will know who the fuck i was. so why does it really matter what i do with my life? a few thousand year from now, literally nothing is going to matter. not even just me, literally anybody and anything, it'll all become meaningless with time. we live on a fucking rock. one day, that rock will explode into a billion pieces, and nothing, not me, not you, not anything in the history of the whole world will matter anymore. it'll all be gone, and there will probably be some new rock for a few billion years, and that rock will be meaningless too. the cycle will repeat over and over and over. nothing matters. who cares if i traumatize my sibling or fuck up my friends or anything else, soon enough it won't matter, so honestly it really doesn't matter now.
