When I really stop to think about it, I find it exceedingly amusing thinking how I became the person I did today. More so, what I mean is that I'm broken. My parents simply never could figure out how to raise children properly, more so I chalk it up to my dad's severe impatience. And thus, in the aftermath, stood myself, alone, as their only success. My half-brother was a problem, as is my sister. The irony to all this, of course, is that the only reason I turned out right was I was motivated to become the total opposite of my parents. Pretty amusing really, the the only reason I am who I am today is because I hated everything my father was. It was great motivation, at the very least.

I suppose with that said, I came out of it all relatively broken as a human being. I hate my family with a passion. Not even in an angsty teenage sort of way either. I quite seriously detest my family. Furthermore, I've ended up becoming somewhat sociopathic, if not extremely apathetic towards everything and everyone. To top it off, I have problems with depression and suicidal tendencies as well. I'm actually very surprised that I can even maintain healthy relationships with friends outside of my home. That, I still find, is a mystery in and of itself. A fortunate one, but one nonetheless.

Recently, I received news that one of my friends is likely dead; the victim of a fatal traffic accident. Having received said news, I really didn't know how to react. Chilling still, I don't think I even had a real reaction. If I said I did, then it was feigned in the moment. I didn't know whether to be sad, guilty, or anything else in-between so, by default, I felt nothing. I still feel nothing. I don't know how I should feel. I can still recall hearing of my grandmother's imminent death as a child and feeling very little in the way of emotion. This happened again when my last surviving grandmother died and I literally felt nothing. In-fact, I think I went out later that day and did my usual things.

The point I'm getting at, I suppose, is that for being strangely successful in life, I've gotten through said game as a broken character. Everything I ever did has been to the benefit of others and never to myself. My existence is akin to a marionette, with society pulling at my strings. The trials and tribulations of daily life are beginning to grate on my psyche. I'm tired of mediocrity and the mundane. What happens now is my feeble attempt at repairing myself, and one way or another I'll come out of this fixed or I'll spiral down into my own self-induced oblivion. Either is fine with me. I am not afraid to die.

You know, sometimes I really do wonder what the point behind living is. I find myself thinking about that on a relatively regular basis virtually every time I spend extended periods of time by myself. Not that I mean to be down or anything, I'm not even feeling depressed right now, but I just find it to be an interesting question. As a suicidal depressive, sparse sociopath, and, undeniably, a human being, I have upheld relatively skewed views on life from time to time, though I can never find an answer to my question and likely never will.

That said, what point is there really behind life and living? We're born, we live out our mundane lives of mediocrity, and we die. Very few people will ever make any sort of lasting impression upon society; once you're dead, yours is an ineffectual existence extinguished from the face of the Earth and the history of all that was and ever will be. Your memory is carried on by the ones you love, but what is left of your life when they move on, die, or, slowly but surely, oblivion overtakes the remnants of your faded existence? Nothing. Nothing at all. We all hope to matter. We all hope to be remembered. But the truth is, we'll be forgotten. All of us. With time. It's unavoidable. So what, then, is the meaning behind living if it's all so fleeting? Why should I be born if I'm just going to die? Why should I bother living if there's no real point behind it all? I just don't know. I never will, and I accept that as much as it perplexes me.

Lying in this lonesome Japanese apartment, the rain pours outside as thoughts swarm around in my head like bees in a hive. As I ponder these ideas trailing off into infinitude, I listen as a Periphery song warms atmosphere of this hollowed room, taking me places my mind only ever can when I'm by myself.

Reaching for a way out of this dream
I waste my breath ascending
Fears lead me astray
The past brings them to be
What's left to carry me

I don't know why that song affects me so much. The lyrics, the instrumentation, everything just speaks to my subconscious. Somewhere within the inner sanctum of my mind's arcanum, it resonates with the wavelength of my soul to which it responds with a deep feeling of wanting.

And I suppose that's where I am with my life right now. It's been a while since I've been depressed or suicidal, which means my life has seen fit to pursue unfulfilled dreams of grandeur. I'm stuck at a fork leading to the life my parents want of me and the life I want of myself. At the divide is where I stand, left to make a decision, only to result in taking the path not made and blazing my own trail into the twilit horizon.

For the longest time, I've followed the path my parents set up for me. Which mainly meant going to school. Whereas the path I set for myself was the one less traveled, with aspirations of future careers, of forgotten dreams, and thoughts of other such luxuries. I suppose I've gotten to the point where I'm just tired of following over leading. I want to do what I want to because it's what will make me happy and not what others expect of me.