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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.

I remember vividly, during one of my many fights with my parents during teenage years, telling them how I had never asked for the Gift of life.

I had my reasons for saying it. It felt like the ultimate act of control over my life. I wasn’t given a choice, I was handed this gift without asking first if I even wanted it. It would be logic to assert that there was no way of asking before life was ever given to me, but the point was that I have never really been asked my opinion about things by my parents. Of course, knowing how my mother has always been extremely selfish in everything me-related made my opinion stronger.

But I look at it from a very different angle today. I linger in the wisdom of those words. Some 20 years later I still feel the same way. I feel like I am living this life because it has been given too me, but if I could, I would do without it. I don’t really consider suicide an option, because I am sure that one of the reasons why I suffer so much is the huge hope I carry within me to finally be able to lead a better, fulfilling happy life. A hope that has not turned into reality yet. But yeah, I would really like to do without it.

Not because life in itself sucks, but because often times I find mine sucks. Because I don’t want a life where I can catch my breath two weeks a year at a time, I don’t want a life where one day I start crying and never really know when or if I’ll ever stop. Because my life is tainted. As much as I hope for it to get better and I am trying all I can to turn it all around, I don’t really expect it to. Because I have no evidence that it can be any other way, because it has never been any other way for me. I expect to keep suffering and battling against this forever and forever asking myself: what the hell is the point?

What is the purpose of this life? It would make a whole lot of sense if I believed in paradise. I would look at it as a sort of atonement and wait for the end grinding my teeth because then I will have deserved eternal salvation. Sorry, the Catholics have tried this with me, but I decided God didn’t exist when my rational mind found absolutely no evidence of him in everyday life. I believe the day we die it’s game over, so I damn well know I’m supposed to get the best of it in the years I have left, because there will be no 40 fucking virgins waiting for me on the other side. There will be nothing on the other side. (No offense intended to all of those who believe, lucky you indeed).

Whenever I am enjoying myself or just doing something interesting I don’t even pose myself this problem, but it’s not like whenever depression doesn’t have a tight grip on me I have it figured out. I just don’t think about it, it’s exactly like numbing myself in front of the TV. It’s when I drown in tears and desperately try to find a handhold to lift myself up that I can’t find that superior purpose to look up to.

There are a hundred things I like, enjoy and which stir all of my passion out there, but they all seem temporary. I’m talking long term, the ultimate purpose of one’s life, the only thing that matters when you turn off all the rest of the noise. Because this my present life doesn’t have one.

I love skating, and the last two weeks being deprived of this goal and unsure whether I may have gone back to practicing or not have been tiring, but that’s going to last a few years at best. My knees can avoid breaking only for so long. After that I will still have photography, but I am not that talented. I suck at interpersonal relationships and most of the times I feel like my friends aren’t there at all for me, I’m just a past-time at best. I basically have no family in the strictest sense of the term. I don’t want to have children because… well, see above, like I would ever want someone else going through this shit because of me. What the hell is left?

My purpose so far has always been love. Finding love, living love, enjoying love and supporting the person I love. Now I face first of all a very real possibility of not finding it. Not because I am not enough or I am wrong, but because of how hard it is to find someone really right, of how difficult it is for me to handle feelings in general, and a general lack of time and opportunity. Plus, there is this sense of necessity to refrain from it. Because I feel worse when I have to handle a relationship, because I should battle this sense of need for love. Then again, I am sure that the only way I can learn to get a clue about love and how to handle myself with it is by having relationships. Nobody learns how to do stuff by not doing it.

I don’t think I will ever reach the point where I believe I am happy alone. Just as I don’t believe I will ever really be fine and stable, either with or without someone.

And the fact is I just can’t forgive my parents for not only bringing me into this world, but leaving me with no tool to tackle it, let alone finding a purpose in it. My only purpose right now is undoing all the damage that false ideologies imprinted in my brain over the early years of my life have caused. I can’t help but thinking how much suffering could have been avoided if only I had being raised to appreciate being a human being instead of a machine. I won’t solve anything just blaming, and I know I am the one who has to repair the damage, but I am angry. Because it’s not right, because I didn’t deserve this. And I have already struggled so much so far that I just don’t want to be bound to this for eternity, because really, I never asked for a life like this.