Somedays you look through your list of friends on facebook and realise there is no one you actually want to talk to and you simultaneously have the need to share and nothing to share at all and you log onto omegle hoping to connect with a stranger and you realise everyone there is either a robot or a 20 year old male looking for sex only and you wonder does anonymity reduce everyone to base desires and does no one enjoy intellectual discourse for the sake of itself and eventually you wonder how you got here in the first place and you realise that there's no rhyme or reason to it, and you think further and reflect that in your wishful thinking you assumed that a new friend, a change of scenery will solve everything but the truth is that the only person who can solve this is yourself.
And maybe the sandman.
This concoction of self-pity, wishful thinking, and quite possibly mental illness can really fuck a man up, and to think we have the hubris of thinking that we would always be immune.
And you think back to how your family who have met so many others who have chosen the seduction of suicide, how they have implored you to speak up and share with them when you feel down, and you realise why people don't.
They think it's not that bad.
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