I just finished reading Mark Manson’s book, the first book I’ve finished in a while, and the last chapter talked about confronting the reality of death.
While I read about how he described his experience sitting at the edge of the cliff of the Cape of Good Hope, and when I read the last few sentences of this book, where he relayed how an Aussie came up to him, concerned about him sitting there, asking him “Is everything okay? How are you feeling?”
And when I read how he said he felt alive, very alive, I cried.
Until now I’m crying actually, while typing these things, trying to capture my thoughts before I completely forget about it. Because I don’t want to forget about it.
I NEED TO REMEMBER IT.
I’ve been depressed since my teenage years, and all these years, I’ve been telling myself, I want to die.
Today, I realized the truth.
I don’t want to die. I want to feel alive. To find a reason to keep living.
-me to myself
I only bitch about wanting to die because I don’t know whether I have something like that in store for me out there.
It is something I already know deep within my soul, I want to live. I’ve just been ashamed to say it. I want to live. I want my life to be worth something.
I want to see life as vividly and in full color as this new mechanical keyboard I just got this morning–it is a bit distracting, but I need it.
I want to feel alive. I want to want to live, and not be ashamed to say I want it.
I don’t want to be dead inside anymore.
PsychiARTIST 