Living with absurdity, living with anxiety

I don’t usually give much of a thought to whatever the meaning of life might be. I never really saw much of a point in it. Superficially, I might have touched upon reasons for living, superficially, I might have conflated meaning and reason, and as a thought experiment, I might have tried thinking about both. Rather, it’d be hard to talk in what I may or may not have thought in absolute terms when I’m not quite a singlet. So, assuming a continuity between the past and my present self, I’ll still say I don’t usually give much of a thought to whatever the meaning of life might be.

A vague memory of me saying it was meaningless comes to mind, but I don’t think I even believe that nowadays. To be quite fair, one of the reasons I don’t like this question is how flattening it is in regards to reality. Call me crazy (I am) but I don’t see any good in seeking to establish a singular reality that has to be true. The (in)existence of absolute “right and wrong”, the probabilistic nature of it, the multiplication and layering of realities; those have been topics of interest recently as we exchanged ideas with a friend.

Then, there’s – casually enjoying a few shows, crying about repressed memories, moving on with feelings I thought I’d never reconciliate, a few psychedelics. I’m dramatic, I’m honestly pretty emo in nature, and I love to witness myself like the self-obsessed motherfucker that I am. I thought overexaggerating would be me trying to cope with a bunch of things I could barely make sense of; I won’t deny it might have been, it might still be. However, if you flip the coin, I’d say it’s not necessarily the coping as it is the consequence of thinking it’s not that deep.

Anxiety. It’s visible even when I write those words as I keep repeating again and again that I think and think and think. The desire to understand. I’ll find a thousand reasons for everything, and maybe that’s why no matter how much I love them, it takes me a while to come up on any sort of drugs, especially around people. The inability to let go, and I’ll be high, and I’ll be thinking for a while about what I think of it before it finally hits me how ridiculous I am, being all serious about it. Though rather than simply taking a while to come up, I think a better wording that would really make you understand what’s on my mind is that it takes me a while to immerse myself. You know, I don’t really believe I have that big a tolerance to anything; it’s more like I put up a lot of struggle against anything, without even meaning to.

So, indulging into my own existence as an absurdity brings me self-love, allows myself to live. No matter what kind of lack of depth I see into my own existence, I can’t let go of the constant thoughts anyway. Funnily enough, since the thoughts will always be there, seeing absurdity in myself makes room for me to care more easily for others. There is nothing I’d fear more from thinking (my) life isn’t that deep than to go ahead and reach the conclusion that it therefore doesn’t matter how I engage with the world around me.

And that’s why I think searching for “the” meaning of life as an absolute is horrendously flattening for me. The way I try to live is by always balancing my desire to understand for I have in mind this ideal for the world, as in, anarchy, community, and the downfall of racial capitalism and all of those shitass systems we hate; balancing that with how I don’t actually care for a meaning of life at a personal level, how I don’t need anything deep to be my guide. Which never meant I wanted “life” as a general concept to be useless, meaningless, or anything negative; matter of fact, I genuinely care about what other people make of it.

Comes to mind the bio of oomf that says “I don’t care I’ll be kind anyway”. I don’t know what they have in mind when they write that, I don’t even know if it’s a thought, a quote, or whatever else it could be. Even then, it comes to mind, because it resonates with me. And so I act, and I’m obsessed, and at the same time I couldn’t give less of a shit, and at the same time that’s exactly why I’m still around with hope, anger and love, all because I don’t think I’m that deep so it’s fun to add depth every other day.

I’m no liar, no faker, or maybe I am, but I don’t think it matters much either; in fact, whether or not that character of mine is a creation or my real heart [as if I even believed in that hard binary, and as if I even believed in an absolute truth], what matters is that it’s sincere. It’s all tainted in anxiety, it’s all emo, it’s all dramatic, it’s all absurd, but during the act, I mean it. And maybe it’s fine to live for living.

August 2nd
11:39 AM - 12:52 PM