Fear of a blinking cursor

I have no idea what I’m going to write.

Good. That’s when you produce the best stuff.

It’s also when I produce the worst stuff. Let’s not forget about the thousands of pages of handwritten garbage that I’ve dumped in the bin for recycling.

The most important aspect of pursuing any talent is to desensitize yourself to failure. The first thing I do when I get up every morning is write two pages of absolute trash. Some people call it free writing. I used to call it exorcism. But now I just see it as getting used to reality.

I do this and I still fear nothing more than the blinking cursor. It thumps along with my heartbeat, ticking as the irretrievable seconds go by, marking the lost moments I’ll never get back. It speaks to me. It says, “I’m waiting, I’m waiting, I’m waiting.”

I’m waiting for you to do something brilliant. I’m waiting for you to erupt from your self-induced stupor, your self-imposed imprisonment, your self-protecting paralysis. You have something you want to do. Do it.

The blankness sits there, wanting to be written on. It’s like a girl sitting on the edge of a bed. She’s not going to take her clothes off herself, she’s not going to invite you to come sit next to her. You have to have the courage to be a little bit of an asshole and just fucking do it and not care how stupid you think you are. She wants you to, but she’ll never say so.

There’s life, and the alternative is suicide. You have two choices when it comes to suicide: actual suicide (which is the less popular choice because it requires more balls) and figurative suicide, which can be accomplished by simply going through the motions of life and holding down a job so that you can pay for living so that you can work—and on and on and on like that. (The latter is much more popular because it doesn’t require any fortitude. You just fall in line with everyone else.)

I know how I would kill myself. I’ve thought about this (hasn’t everyone?). First I write my manifesto, calling the world out on its bullshit like any good death manifesto does. Write a few letters to people whom I know will want one, or will be better off having received one. I’d also outline what my memorial service should be like (simple and non-religious) so that the people who knew me could have one. All of this goes toward minimizing the emotional impact of my death on those who knew me.

It’s also best to take care of all the post-mortem instructions myself. My body is to be donated to science. No burial. Make sure that I’ve got all the proper identification and whatnot so my family does not have to come and identify the body.

Then comes the actual act itself, for which two items are required: a breathing mask and a tank of compressed nitrogen. Nitrogen hypoxia is the least painful way to die; you get a little high and giggly, and then you go to sleep forever. These items are commonly available.

There are a few other bureaucratic items like selling everything I own and converting it to cash and putting it in a place where the people I want to give it to can find it, but these are boring details.

It would be a big bother for everyone else if the place I’m living in became a crime scene. The best solution to this I can come up with is to do the deed in a tent, in a camping area. I’d go to some camping place where there are other people, make sure I have all of my identification and things. I’d wait until late night, and then zip up the tent with a clearly legible sign that says Dead Body Inside, Call Police. And then I’d go inside and turn on the happy gas and take an eternal nap.

Except I can’t do any of this.

The inconvenient part is that the people closest to me would prefer that I wasn’t dead at all. No matter how carefully you plan your suicide so that it will least bother those who love you, there’s no getting around the fact that they’d prefer you were alive. So if you’re going to be considerate to others, you’re kind of stuck in this world.

And if you’re stuck in this world, you may as well make the most of it.

I just find it ironic in a very annoying way that feeling depressed saps your energy, and it’s energy you need to get back on your feet so you don’t feel depressed.

At least there’s music. Music is the only thing that really feels good anymore. If nothing else seems worthwhile, I always have music to fall back on. That’s always worth it.

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