Futile meaning of existence

Still hospitalized. My condition is growing like a blossoming flower. Everyday a new layer is added instead of taken off to reach the bottom of my sickness- my essence of being.

I am here, somehow restrained. No access to medication that I would long to take in dosages never described; to go to an eternal blissful sleep, with the assumption that over “there” it does not hurt anymore.

I haven’t felt straight suicidal for so long. Like an addict who is taken away from drugs and so is called abstinent.

Is there such a thing as suicidal anonymous. SA would not really describe who I am. I carry the same acronym, but I belong to Sleep Anonymous. I said that if you can do something for 10 seconds, you can probably endure more. I am weak, despite all the kilograms I am putting on. Food is my only source of detachment from my body, from this pain of nonsense. You would think I ought to deprive myself to death; but I am too weak. Didn’t I say I only do tentatives that are by default meant to be false?

Suicide is not an option….

It is a reflection of how I fell into this tragic trap of mental illness where everyone who doesn’t think the same is weird. How can I face my existential problems with this mess in my mind. It only confirms that all this mediocrity of diagnostics and drugs, therapy therapy that has very little to contribute to alleviating my suffering…


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