The words elude me. It's too personal to share and yet too universal to keep from you. Why can I not give voice to reason and to empathy and our paradoxical shared loneliness? We are alone. Always have been. Always will be. It is the very essence of the human condition.
We live on this tiny planet, a speck of dust in space. Space so vast we measure it in multiple billions of light years. Space so old, we need a time scale of billions of years. We are so insignificant, and we live for such a short time, it's awe inspiring and terrifying at the same time.
Why are we here? What is our purpose? Is there even a purpose? What happens after we die? These are questions for theologians, philosophers, scientists. And.. children. Every child asks 'why', until their parents are tired of the constant stream of questions and teach their children not to wonder. By means of a whisper, a scream, or a beating hand. Teaching children to accept, to surrender, to quiet their minds. Destroying the spirit of another because they themselves had their spirits destroyed before them. Tired not having the answers, of having to stare the unknown in the face and being constantly reminded of how little we actually know. I understand the allure of not wanting to care, the temptation of not wanting to think.
I was 12 when the existential crisis began and the suicidal thoughts took hold. Though I suppose, it's really always been there, hasn't it? Looking for a better place, chasing Utopia. I was 15 when, finally convinced such a place doesn't exist, the nihilism took over and I attempted to end my existence. Obviously, I failed.
I was 15 when I was so lost, the music found me. In Bad Religion, I saw my thoughts mirrored, my feelings reflected. I. Wasn't. Alone. There was at least one other human being on this planet who felt the same, who reasoned the same, who understood. And that was all I needed. Just one was enough.
And so the search continues. I didn't fail at suicide, I succeeded at survival.
