Absolute denial of oneself

I´m stuck. I´m tied to this desk. I can´t get out. I´ve been doing the same shit over and over again and it seems like it´s been like this forever. I´m tired, I want to sleep for ages. I´m sick of complaining. I don´t feel free at all. I don´t even know what freedom is supposed to mean. I only know it´s meant to be better than this. I feel numb. I´m out of strength. I don´t remember how enthusiasm is supposed to feel. I feel regret. I don´t feel nostalgia anymore. I don´t see a way out. I can´t see further than this desk and this chair and this office. I don´t read anymore. I´ve lost interest in everything. Everything looks black and white. The only noise I hear is that of fingers striking on keyboards. I don´t read the news. I don´t call old acquaintances. I sometimes miss old girlfriends, but not that often. I complain in the morning and stretch as long as possible the evenings. I get tired of films half-way through. I don´t make new plans for the future. I criticize everyone and everything. I dream of things I didn´t have the guts to do. I have a closet full of things I left behind. I pretend to know things I don´t actually know. I feel tied. I´m cold. I plan to do things and never actually accomplish anything. I love to suffer. I´m cheap. I only sing in the shower. I never look up. I hate the sun. I despise optimistic people. I save money and never use it. I have a hard time breathing. I smoke too much. I don´t care about health. I never buy new clothes. I feel at ease when there´s nothing left to do. I don´t believe in positive thinking. I don´t think ideals will take you anywhere. I don´t trust activists. I don´t see the point in anything. I envy those who take chances. I hate my body. I don´t enjoy traveling. I sense time slipping through my fingers. I hate writing. I´ve long stopped talking. I loathe people who express themselves constantly. I detest life utterly. I don´t think that´s funny. I can´t stop. I want to quit. I´ve even grown tired of myself, the possibility of myself, my own image in the mirror, my own me in any of it´s multiple ramifications.

Gregory D´Amato (1964-1983)