Do Not Resuscitate?

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I was walking barefoot along the shore of this isolated beach, wearing daisy dukes and wayward thoughts.  I always knew what I wanted and at that time, what I really wanted was to get away.  But can you truly disappear in such a global world?  How would I even vanish, knowing that all eyes can pin me down if they wish to.  I rued over things I could do to get away, even suicide was on my mind because my thirst for mental renouvellement consumed the bulk of my thoughts.  I really wanted to get away, from everything and everyone I’d ever known, to the farthest lands known to man.  But in that instant, whilst the desire was heartfelt, the hope was not.

I walked around for about an hour, traipsing along the coast of a sun scorched beach.  I wasn’t even wearing sunscreen.  The ideas popped in my mind, unbidden.  ”I could really get away,” I pressed on, ”if I wanted to”.  It’s not like I wanted anonymity or isolation.  I just wanted something new.  New people, and I stressed on the word ‘people.’  The species I’d encountered my whole life were so devoid of life and substance that I came to see them as breathing bots, bearing no resemblance to the soulful, enlightened species I’d read about in my favorite books.  New environment.  The island life wasn’t mine, it was at loggerheads with my very own spirit.  A dark, gloomy, misanthropic, at times dull, music played in my heart and oftentimes, it veered from the upbeat rhythm of the island life.

I just wanted a new shot at life.  Because, why not?  Someone once told me that a person’s surroundings play a vital role in their emotional well-being.  Well, ”screw your emotional well-being,” was what my surroundings would tacitly imply.  I was going off the rails, derailed by an all-consuming depression, sparked by the sheer ignominy of the people and the things that surrounded me.  Everything and everyone rubbed me the wrong way and I just couldn’t go on.  What made me happy, at the end of the day, was the cold hug of my dimly lit room, my own haven in this pitiless misery-addled imagery.

But I guess that’s what drives me to be who I am, I thought to myself, still sauntering along the coast on sandy soles.  Who would I be if I weren’t so laughably misanthropic?  No one.  What kind of person would I be without the ephemeral bouts of depression and melancholy?  A fucking normie.  ”I like who I am,” I thought to myself in the sweltering heat.  It’s a beautiful story, one that will be told eventually.