Content warning: suicidal ideation.
I have a confession. Every time I read or hear about humans behaving abominably toward other humans, I think about suicide. Last year, I thought about it almost nonstop. It was distracting, annoying, and a little scary.
I think I’m supposed to feel ashamed of this, but I don’t. It just is. I’m capable of being as cold as space and utterly indifferent. I trained myself to reject those feelings. Now it’s habitual.
I could change this internal thought process by forming a new habit, but I choose not to do so. I don’t want to live as an unfeeling, unattached, and unaffected entity. We have computers for that.
This is one of the few instances where I regret being too intense. That’s not quite what I mean… (I was going to say unbalanced, but it failed the rudeness test ((and made me giggle.)))
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