November 22nd to me is one of those dates in life you remember.

13 years ago, I had just arrived in my current city to start college, for the first time finally away from my hometown, on my own, out of the suffocating grip of my parents.

On November 22nd I bought my first snowboard. It was a statement. It meant I want to dedicate my life to this, something I believed in, in memory of all those who died in the Kaprun fire.

There are a few of those dates in my general year. May 6th, April 21, Friday the 17th. Milestones. And year after year I go back to those original days and take stock of my life, of the additional years to my age. What has happened in the time lapse, what is different, what is better, what is worse, how far I’ve come.

November 22nd 2013 is the day I give up. Today of all days I realised how useless everything is, how I dispise my life, and every pointless thing in it. It’s the day I realise “normal” does not apply to me and my past, and that my opposite to “normal” is not “above average” but “insufficient”. Today is the day that I realise “normal” is something I will never have and I decide that 32 years of insufficient life are enough. I am done. And since I’ve been trying like hell to turn this around with absolutely no avail, I give up trying. Today is the day I hope tomorrow will never come, for here I am stuck in my insufficient life, unable to change it and I don’t want to be stuck here for the following 32 years. No thanks.

Today is the day I get angry at the world, today is the day I stop being kind and civil, for no good thing has ever come from that. Today is the day I realise how useless and doomed is everything I do. Skating is useless, working is useless, living is useless.

You are put on this chessboard by the selfishness of other players and are forced to the battlefield with the insufficient weapons you are supplied. You are supposed to strive for survival. Then one day you stop, you see that you are only ever fighting with no result if not that of avoiding being killed. So you start wondering why. Why is it important to preserve life? What is it exactly that makes it precious? 

And the answer doesn’t come. You just can’t see it. 

And that is the exact moment you start hating. You hate all the people in the people who know the answer: they tell you that life is beautiful. They tell you they love life. So you see the difference. Because you don’t. Some people are lucky enough to believe this from the start. Some people maybe are gifted with an enlightment along the way. I’m beginning to believe that this is truly genetics. The same genetical predisposition for certain illnesses exists for happiness too. I don’t have that gene. 

Some people are not cut out for a certain job, or a certain sport, I’m not cut out for this particular emotion. It doesn’t matter how hard you try, it’s not bad luck, it’s not meant to be. 

I think I understand addiction now. You don’t solve a problem with drugs, you make it worse. Or, you consciously decide to numb yourself day after day because you lack even the basic enthusiasm to take your own life. You feel forced to live, so you live the as little as possible. People who kill temselves have lost hope. Those who have never had it don’t even bother.

We drag on.

We are dragons.

Dragons don’t exist.