Quantifying stuff is very important to me, just like the rest of the friendless boys down here at tall peters. I’ve spent the majority of the prime of my life hunching down into appalling shapes in order to better enable the mindless slapping of my tortured keyboard; contending in incoherent, excruciating paragraph after paragraph the most unimaginably inane superlatives out there to possibly discuss.
As an originator (ask my Mom) of being Depressed and also having Anxiety, it has become quite an irritant for me to hear about all these hip, trendy folks out there who also claim to be sad and anxious. I’m not saying that I doubt that these attractive, popular people aren’t Depressed and/or have Anxiety, I am merely trying to point out that I (Me) was one of the main guys complaining about it before anyone else even knew about it.
This is more than a mere instagram post to me, folks. Wanting to die (allegedly) is what keeps my loved ones begrudgingly interested in my existence. Loudly saying “I want to die” every minute of the day may seem trite to you – and it’s true that it causes all sorts of problems in my life – hell, you may even say it’s the sort of tired, useless platitude of a terminal coward. The fact is that this very cool and edgy mantra that keeps me going.
Thinking about killing yourself is not a big deal in current year. It’s probable that even normal people have had a quick think about how good self termination would be (sincerely recommend it for all the normies out there). One day, serious consideration of such actions will be a prerequisite for survival on Earth gulag.
Ever truer than that fact is that no one has thought about killing themselves as meticulously as me. I’ve made diagrams and all sorts of stuff – it’s difficult to overstate just how prepared for my self inflicted demise I am. It will never happen of course; my carefully curated legacy is much more important.
Listen, I’ve heard all about the legitimate’ reasons to be depressed; childhood trauma, war and rape and all that etc. The fact is that none of that stuff really matters to me – surely that gives me a right to lord my status as Master of Depression above others? There isn’t a great deal of suffering which could be put unto a person which would super cede that which I have claimed as my own. I’ve got big reasons to die – the more vaguely I explain them, the better. No one can ever be as depressed as me.