Do you know the feeling of briefly, for one fleeting moment, opening your eyes? Daring to peer past the curtain of what we normally keep strictly off-bounds, the thin veil obscuring the true nature of our existence? Today had such a moment… and I’m still shaking from the repercussions. For me, opening my eyes results in a feeling of overwhelming… meaninglessness. Of realizing all my efforts are for naught, that nothing is right in my life and nothing I try doing to change that fact is helping get rid of this feeling.

The more I try satisfying myself, the more I try living a lie and attempting to appease my wants and needs, the more I force myself to continue living on step by step; the more it feels like my very soul wants to rebel against it all. It’s like the only thing keeping me alive is an abstract hope stretched thin across a canvas of possibilities, and the more I try pinpointing its form, the more I despair from how… unfulfilling it all is. I’m constantly lying to myself, forcing myself to spend my time doing things that aren’t me. Nothing but a series of distractions, each one carefully tuned to keep me captivated for long enough to avoid accidentally opening my eyes again.

I can’t even imagine what it feels like to have a purpose in your life. To know that you’re doing something because it’s something that fulfills you. Or perhaps I do, but I’m subconsciously blocking out the memory of it? I mean, thinking rationally, doing free software has always been something that I thought fulfills me. So why is it that, the more I entrench myself in this regime, the less satisfaction I feel? Or is the issue a lack of balance - a focus too strongly devoted on any one thing? I wish I had the answers, but at this juncture the only thing I can come to terms with is the fact that I don’t need to have all the answers.

I tried reaching out again. A vain attempt at struggling to find what it is I’m missing; but all it results in is false hopes and expectations - an utter inability to grasp what it is I’m trying to grasp, left holding nothing but the wispy strands of false hope. Shattered dreams. A realization that the fantasy world I’m trying to construct in my head to save me from this living nightmare is nothing but a fleeting image. Frustration. Yes, that’s the word I was looking for! I’m deeply frustrated. By what, exactly? Lack of progress? Lack of goals? Lack of meaning? Lack of… something, at any rate. Something is clearly missing from this whole picture. Perhaps someone? I don’t even know anymore.

I think my greatest fear is finding what it is I’m pursuing, only to realize that nothing will have changed. I don’t know how to cope with this dread anymore. The prospect of spending the rest of my decades on this godforsaken rock feeling as chronically unfulfilled as I do right now is making me genuinely lose hope. It’s definitely unfair of me that I’m trying so hard to force somebody else to give my life meaning - of course nobody is going to meet that demand, right? The only thing keeping me going is the idea of waiting for her to arrive on my doorstep, but then what? A person won’t be able to define my life forever. What will I do once meaningless resumes seeping into my consciousness?

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to find a satisfying response to this question. Maybe there is none, and a cycle of escapism and distraction is what I’m doomed to suffer through for the rest of eternity until the sweet embrace of death takes me. But for now, all I can do is continue forcing myself to wake up every morning, guided by a thin veil of hope.

And perhaps, the other lesson is that I should avoid opening my eyes and looking behind this veil, lest I glimpse the monstrosities lurking on its other side.