I am losing focus on the world around me retreating into a place I know best.
I feel like I’m getting ready for the end.
I wouldn’t take too much stock in that though; I am not a man of my word though I’d like to be.
The world is looking bleak in beak, claw and human hands. It is the human hands it seems, the force of nature that is humanity that is the cause.
But despite our major flaws as a collection of apes in so-called ‘civilised societies,’ I’m finding it harder to be inspired to try to be guided and also guide humans to better more ecologically friendly ways to be.
Because I’m looking at the world through a dark lens and all I see is that nature is suffering.
I always struggled to see the ‘beauty’ when my dad parked his car near a supposed scenic landscape and declared it ‘beautiful,’ usually in the countryside. Because all I saw and felt was absence. I didn’t necessarily know what was absent, but I felt it.
I always figured once I had been diagnosed with Depression that it was my Depression that coloured this experience.
It wasn’t the countryside that was the problem, it was me.
There was hope in that.
But the more I look around, and the more I learn, it seems my perception wasn’t far off from reality.
I’ve started referring to much of what I see as a ‘green desert’ taken from the environmentalist author George Monbiot.
Yet whatever we do or don’t do as humans it seems to me that life is suffering and what for? On this meaningless little spinning planet why such desperation for survival, other than that instinct driven into all animals through evolution.
But logically it’s not worth it.
The French philosopher Albert Camus found the idea of wanting to survive absurd, saying that suicide was the logical conclusion. But he didn’t use that for negativity and turned that idea on it’s head with an essentially, ‘nothing matters so we may as well take the pressure off ourselves and live the best life we can because… we can.’
I can’t take on that attitude, I no longer enjoy the ‘now’ to make the meaninglessness of life meaningless.
I had these conflicts in my head about how I struggled with the suffering of life yet simultaneously wanted a greener better future for life.
But now all I can ask is, why? Why hold onto that desperation to survive, to that desperation for this cycle of life to continue? It’s absurd.
Maybe I’ll wake up one day and feel better and be back on the ‘let’s save the planet,’ journey.
Maybe I won’t. And maybe that’ll be better.
Maybe it’s time for me to let go and just let myself fizzle out.
Maybe I can become a living doll, alive for those that would be distraught if I died but inside no longer being. A psychological death I suppose. I think I’m already half way there.