Killing myself (not)

We have always been entertained by the idea of attempting to kill ourselves.

I guess it's the attention? We're not even remotely attention seeking, the thought of needing attention and validation (when we're not attached to a favourite person) fills us with nausea, praise feels hollow and weird - in some part, maybe that's the aftershocks of years of abuse from so many people and so recent. Although I will not deny that sometimes praise feels utmost deserved. 

But seeing, knowing someone who we hate feeling SOMETHING negative makes us almost weep with joy. I mean who wouldn't? After all, if you were abused for years, you too would have the need to see them suffer.. well, after the idolisation wears off at least. 

Being petty also adds on to our prior point - something will go his way and we can't help but squirm with the utmost need, desire to desolate it to ash. And a death is almost always something just quite big enough to cause enough problems for the right person if you orchestrate it perfectly. 

Escapism again could tie into this rat king, a fantasy that we return to at every emotional precipice, it would be so easy to die and leave everything behind, we were never made to carry this much anyway, the sheer abuse that our mind carries is something no child should ever dream of carrying - that is why we are who we are today, and the next day, and the next. 

Don't get me wrong, we would never actually kill ourselves now. Aside from the fact that we have too much responsibility to just drop, we cannot make sure that our death would even affect this person in the way we want - and what is the point if it all goes to waste, our divine and beautiful consciousness would cease to exist for no reason and it would not even take the other down with us. 

I guess then, the only logical reason is validation. A child starved even if metaphorically is still a child starved, they will hunger and fiend for the one thing that was taken from them, the one thing rightfully theirs. Validation we've been starved from plenty, right now the one who withheld it is probably sitting on his moral high ground, a throne made of the bodies of those who chose to side with him, a throne built on manipulation and lies. 

Or maybe not, maybe we are the problem and all that is happening is we are gazing into a mirror and proclaiming the reflection is the other. It would make sense, for why would our former point feel so wrong if it were true. Maybe it's because we copy others and that's why we feel so hollow. A system made of fictional characters and copies of others, a still life painting but never quite the muse. 

Petty revenge. A horrible phrase really if you ask me, an accusation we hear far too often that has spoiled into sour rot and filth. Is justice even real - if all that ours is called is petty revenge then it must not be. Is a life really necessary to finally tip the scales held so righteously in her hand? Is her blade required to be polished red with innocence before her favour wavers? And are we required to wield it against ourselves, lest we turn it upon the ones who put us here in the first place?

Innocence. 

No, not innocence. We are far from innocence. At least he said so. 

Statement ends. 

I hope whoever has read this does not mind my rambling, I hope it is coherent enough to be understood as it seems that I can find coherency in just about anything, but no one else shares that gift of the eye.

 - Johnathan Sims