Crisis

An existential crisis is a crisis because it is a realization that your depression is dominated by truths. The world is slowly and definitely rising to the challenge that has been provided by it’s destiny or whatever you perceive it to be: The challenge to ultimately accept destruction by the incineration of the sun. Our written history is as useless as are our memories. Within a century our memories will escape us and flow into the existing chaos of random memory fragments, contributing to the increasing entropy within our universe, but fundamentally contributing to nothing. Because our species contributes nothing.  Naturally, we destroy. But who is to say that destruction is bad?  Nothing is truly good or bad, and if it is good or bad, it remains inconsequential because of the fact that our thoughts and judgements are merely hormones firing, proteins binding, and cells.  Cells, cells, cells. Masses of cells. Atoms. Matter. Therefore our judgements are insignificant. They are just a way to occupy mental space. Insignificant. Yet so significant that it creates our consciousness and sense of self… an illusion that is only shattered by a few individuals who we medicate in order to avoid understanding the complexity (or simplicity)  of “who” we truly are. Or should I say “who we are not.”

You are not who you perceive yourself to be.

You are no one self.

There is no self.