Nothing Matters, There is No Point to Anything

Friday night, I returned home from watching a movie at Grandpa’s house. I went to my room and looked around. I felt like I needed something. I started pacing. I got really frustrated. Suddenly, it felt perfectly logical to me to say that nothing mattered. I have tried not to think about it much since then (which means not thinking about anything, really), but I still feel that it’s true. Riding TRAX and shelf taping and delegating and sleeping and reading books and listening to music—there is no point to any of it. I couldn’t find a thing that had value at that moment. Why not just do nothing for the rest of my life? All we are doing is waiting for time to pass. It doesn’t matter if I stay here or move away or get an education or anything. We’re just doing things. All the rest of my life, I will just be going through the rounds. Pointless rounds. What is the point of trying to be good? It only leads to an eternity to wait through. Nothing I could think of could bring me satisfaction. What does it matter if I take organ lessons or go on dates? There is no reason for anything.

This has led to three things:

1. I am in a deadened state because I don’t want to think about how pointless everything I do is. You could probably tell me that you had killed my dog and I would go home and go to sleep without a reaction.

2. I can’t think of anything I want to do. No view of my future seems valuable. We’re all just going to die anyway.

3. I don’t really want to talk to anyone. How can they understand? They will just try to tell me that things are valuable when they aren’t. You can’t be talked out of a feeling like that.