YS
I have a premonition that I will die soon.
This is obviously not the first time I’ve had such a premonition; it is now Wednesday, December 27, 2023, at 22:10.
But no one knows exactly when death will arrive. No matter what cries and shouts, before the final result is revealed, they are all superb acting. They are not taken seriously by anyone. I often forget to take my medicine. Just yesterday, I took two days’ worth of dosage in one day. I must say, sudden cessation is uncomfortable, and making up the dosage is also uncomfortable; only by making up the dosage can I guarantee the perfect precision in quantity, can I provide the perfect realistic detail for this play. Besides that, due to cheilitis, I have been taking various vitamins for five days: today 6 B6, 6 B2, 6 C; yesterday 6, 7, 7; the day before yesterday stopped; the day before that 8, 13, 6; before that 5, 11, 6; and before that 6, 15, 7. Taking medicine makes a week good; not taking it takes 7 days. Medicine has already occupied a quite significant position in my life. Just taking medicine every day takes several minutes. The cabinet is scattered with six or seven bottles of medicine of various sizes, opened and unopened. On the desk lingers a box of pine nuts given to me by Teacher CM, with only a few grains left, and below are tangerines that have not yet shown signs of rot due to the cold. But how shall I die.
When he walks across the bridge, he drowns his gaze in the water. The water overflows with deep green. No ferry skims past. Sleeping by the shore are souls that have buried their sorrow deep within themselves. The railing is so shallow, a height so full of trust. Then someone falls from the bridge, in some early morning soaked in clear blue, before everyone’s field of vision is illuminated by the fading moon, stirring up roaring splashes. Or perhaps late at night, at the staircase entrance on the ninth floor of the east side of the Protestant building dotted with warm residual lights, after the lights have dimmed and brightened, brightened and dimmed several times, under the intimidation of the ghost drifting from the floor below at the edge of vision, from the window, a leap down, and then splashing blood-red ink spots onto the earth. Until the early morning when the sunlight sweeps away the corpse under the pure black coat. Or perhaps in some empty classroom, when invisible blocks of ice stuff the entire area, he suffocatingly connects the door handle to his neck with a chain, and then, just like many years ago, exactly like many years ago, hears his own heartbeat in his ears, sees the world gradually turning black before his eyes, feels the numbness of limbs and the dizziness filling the brain. Or perhaps reusing that blade sealed away for so long, clean and neat, spitting at the ceiling. But perhaps no longer using an overdose of Quetiapine, which poses no fatal risk other than adding drowsiness, like bungee jumping with a safety rope. Or perhaps no longer countless slight cuts.
The obvious thing is, loneliness has not completely surrounded me. It is precisely this unstable state that tears me between the positive and negative sides, and I must choose one side to obtain peace, to find the final answer. At this moment, I am more inclined towards total self-seclusion. Just yesterday. I completely blocked the annoying social media, and in some form refused Teacher HSS’s dinner invitation. Outsider. She is an outsider. A Hongmen Banquet. A Hongmen Banquet. This is some way to enhance affection. I refuse. I refuse. So at least from last Sunday to now, even though my name was called many times, I have remained silent. But people always hold expectations for what they cannot get. Yet turn to disappointment after getting it. I must choose a side now. Undoubtedly, the collapse of my current state is still waiting for an external event to pull the trigger. These are the so-called small things I used to write about often, that is, there are too many such small things in the future, yet I happen to be unable to do such small things. Therefore, I must die.
And everything I wrote above, its meaning arises after my unnatural death. What I am writing now is meaningless. But is it really necessary for me to arrange my funeral like in the previous suicide notes? Do things after death really exist? No. The death of the animalistic brain determines that souls and such things absolutely do not exist after death. Only the practical reason of the moral law within me prevents me from doing so. But why can you be so immoral? Why am I so bullied by you?
Life and death are indeed eternal themes. Love and death too. Perhaps the former refers not only to romantic love but also to the love between family members. Perhaps I am not that important at all, perhaps family is not the reason I don’t die. Perhaps others could live better without me, perhaps the drama of my life could end right here. Perhaps I can exit the drama currently playing in the world, which is also the only drama playing in the world, right now, and never know future things. Reincarnation does not exist at all in the scientific sense. This means believing in reincarnation is necessarily equivalent to abandoning logic. Since logic is abandoned, then all false propositions are possible to occur. After I exit, no one in the venue will know where I went, and I will never know the breathtaking development of this wonderful performance that is not affected in the slightest by a certain supporting role; this is a lamentable thick barrier. However, my future will be exceptionally wonderful. I refer to the world after my death. That is a secret you will never know. Heaven and hell must not exist, because they already exist in our minds; logical things have already pre-cancelled their own existence.
I fear the arrival of tomorrow. I dread tomorrow’s sunlight. I fear tomorrow’s air. How I wish tomorrow would forever remain in tomorrow like a mirage, and today would forever be like a roaring train on the tracks, or that straight wall of sky on the endless desert, that eternity.
Your achievements are worthless. What you have harvested is meaningless. Your existence is never affirmed. No one has ever truly cared about you. No one has ever truly considered the thoughts in your heart. No one has ever been devoted to you. No one has ever been unreserved with you. No one has ever not cried and shouted their sincerity after receiving such interrogation from you. No one has ever not tried to make themselves feel like a mess. No one has ever truly touched you. No one has ever truly seen you. No one has ever looked straight into your eyes just as you never dare to look straight into others’ eyes. No one has ever asked you to keep quiet, because you are too quiet. No one has ever comforted your unquiet heart when asking you to talk, but only used pitiful bribery to embarrass you, making your subconscious countless analyses of this leave you at a loss. No one has ever asked you not to lower your heart’s wall. People only want to know what you are thinking, they never care about what you are thinking. No one has ever been willing to hold your hand. No one ever. No one ever. There has never been anyone around you. Your indifference became your refusal. And you gave no affirmation. You were just silent. You said not a word. You were cold. You were lonely. You are killing yourself. You are eating your own flesh. You are drinking your own blood.
And all your achievements will be written off at one stroke. All your certificates, medals, all your honors, all the noble memories of you in people’s minds, will cease to exist. Not denied, but non-existent, because they only existed as you thought they did from the very beginning. It is all a frantic drama in your mind.
He is about to be crushed to death by this university. He cannot stand the pain of the fragile flesh body under this colossal mechanical system and hard metal. The two seem incompatible at all, leaving no room for coexistence. It is now Thursday, December 28, 2023, at 11:56 noon. He read that thin book Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus very early on. Death is not an event of life. Our life is endless in the way that our visual field is without limit. Compared to the living, the departed feel closer, and the souls of the sages are so vivid, leaping upon newly printed works to embrace eternal life. Their souls have been washed to pure flawlessness. While the suspicion, scruples, arrogance, and alienation of the living are nauseating. The solemn cemetery, the solemn tombstones, the colorful souls before the solemn inscriptions. He often gets lost in nature, whether it is the bewilderment in the sparse woods under the drifting light rain, By the golden well, the paulownia grows late; a few trees startle at the autumn state. Sudden rain, new sorrow accrues; hundred-foot blinds hang on jade hooks in view. Whether it is the sorrow on the simple stone bridge under the hazy moonlight, When did the moon first come to the azure sky? I stop my cup now to ask the reason why. Then the mind is swept by sorrow, unable to control oneself until leaving that environment.
You leave the hometown where love and dreams are buried, returning to the cold black paradise. A fleeting dream, your soul disperses.
What precious time boredom is! In boredom, you experience eternal suffering; in bewilderment, you seek cold desolation. White paper awaits to be splashed with all colors of possibility. The black hole of time waits for you to fill. Nothingness waits to be enriched. Precisely because it has nothing, boredom possesses everything.
2024/1/21 18:32 I wish to cross the Yellow River, but ice chokes the stream; I intend to climb the Taihang Mountains, but snow fills the beam. Good for nothing.
In every sense, I do not treat myself as a human being. Including but not limited to not feeding myself, hurting my own body and soul, not allowing myself to communicate with others, not allowing myself to sleep, not allowing myself to use a quilt, not allowing myself to change the mat to a mattress in winter, not allowing myself to bathe, not allowing myself to brush my teeth; in every sense, I do not treat myself as a human.
Until now, those hundreds of Chlorpheniramine pills are still a secret only I know, although it is also possible that it is a tacit secret everyone knows. Of course, they haven’t shown it. But, what is the use of this?
I will forever remember the two boxes of KFC chicken frames my mom ordered for me on New Year’s Eve, allowing me to enjoy them alone. That was my happiest, happiest moment.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps escaping won’t matter, just like no matter what happens it won’t matter, no matter what is done it won’t matter, even if killing someone according to this won’t matter, but I only did the only thing I dared to do which is to do nothing. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, doing nothing won’t matter either, perhaps dropping out won’t matter, perhaps dying won’t matter, here the value of all things is the same, so all things have no value, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps this really won’t matter, really? really? false, true, false, true, false, false, false, but this should really not matter, because aren’t you a grain of sand aren’t I a grain of sand, why must it be like that. I only dare to speak to you, this blank, infinite paper. But do I really only dare to do this. Yes, yes, just assume I forgot about this matter, forgot about the make-up exam, is that not okay, is forgetting a sin too, am I guilty? Am I? Am I? What sin? Lying??? Lying??? Irrationality??? There are 21 minutes left before the make-up exam starts, my materials are lost, my materials are lost, no one is willing to understand me, but this cannot and does not deserve to be an accusation against others, because they love me, because no one doesn’t love me, because they love me, but they didn’t understand me, my sin is nothing more than this, not opening my heart to those who love me, I have been cursed, perhaps I should have died immediately when my mom accused me, what’s the use, what’s the use, is there a difference between death and life? Is there a difference between life and death? Establishing meaning for nihilism is nothing but a rootless skyscraper on the sea, nihilism determines the impossibility of denying it and also determines that it does not exist to deny the possibility externally, so what is the use? What is the use of you? You dare not see a psychotherapist. In this aspect, everyone’s performance is perfect and impeccable, not subject to my accusation, then isn’t this all my fault, shouldn’t someone be responsible for this, then isn’t it only possible to be me? There are 16 minutes left, what can you do? You are hallucinating. You are ruined, ruined differently from that scumbag who said my sister is ruined, ruined like that scumbag who ate my cat, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag like, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, that scumbag, scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag scumbag, there are twelve minutes left. No one is contacting me now. Theoretically, I can go my whole life without speaking to others. Isn’t it, no one is willing to sacrifice for me, and I am not worthy. My dropping out is almost destined. P.E.,. Did these trivial matters not become the straw that broke the camel’s back as I predicted in the past few years? I have already, become very alienated from people. Everyone. Everyone. I am dead.
I hate them to death, I hate them to death, I hate them to death, I hate them to death, I hate them to death, I hate them to death, I hate them to death, I hate them to death, I hate them to death.
I really feel like I’ve never received care from others, I mean, from an objective perspective this exists, this obviously exists, this cannot not exist, this inevitably exists, otherwise I would have died long ago, but from a subjective perspective, this does not exist. Between us, between me and anyone anyone anyone anyone anyone anyone anyone anyone anyone, there seems to always be a layer of perhaps lamentable thick barrier. This sense of alienation, looking back over these twenty-something years, seems never not to suffocate me. I seem to always live in the past, and I see the backed-up photos from a few years ago, that sad application as if they are already living in the present where I exist, as if I have been blocked from all communication with all of you humans by that thick barrier from beginning to end. As if I haven’t changed from beginning to end. I read the diary from 2015, which is nearly ten years ago, my mental state, mad and unliving, seems never to have changed, those ultimate questions have reached now from that time. But what ability do you have to allow you to cut yourself off completely from the human world like this. This is inevitably a dead end, which is the road I have walked for many years. But. How would people notice me? Notice the person who is never noticed, not ignore the things they have already ignored, know what they don’t know? My childhood era and I are still sharing the same thinking. That was a regretful time with a little happiness. After all, ah, after all, all my self-destruction is ultimately just to attract people’s attention, but isn’t my subjective also your objective. No matter what I say, I am self-destructing in some sense, and it is useless to mention the purpose.
I still have many, many things unfinished, but it is also feasible for me to die. Must unfinished things be finished?
Whenever I think of the current desolation and misery, I think of that destiny-like permutation and combination problem in the College Entrance Exam math. Then incomparably miss the past. I put too much weight on it, so I can’t pick it up. And the past has already been lamentably and inevitably dyed into a wash of color. No matter what is done. All.
I am about to collapse from my stupidity.
As the saying goes: In youth, I knew not the taste of sorrow, loving to climb the tower. Loving to climb the tower, to compose new verses, I forced myself to speak of sorrow. But it cannot be denied that the relative significance of sorrow is truly very heavy and dense.
Life so far is truly a complete mess. And the reason you don’t think so is merely because you have your own place outside my little patch of land, have other things, just like the few toys before a child’s eyes compared to what I possess. Life is truly a complete mess. My expression ability has undoubtedly declined. I, how can I start a sentence other than using “I”?
A complete mess, like the seabed that has been sunken and frozen for a long time, about to welcome a trace of light from a weak opening, but, from then on, the future, completely dissipated, just like my swaying and uncertain future, my future crushed to death by this colossal system. I feel increasingly uneasy, uneasy, uneasy, uneasy, uneasy, uneasy, but the loneliness has dissipated. I have become accustomed. How many years. How many years. I haven’t poured my heart out to anyone, how many years. Am I willing? I was coerced by myself and became willing. But to avoid more waves in my life, specifically referring to those uncontrollable waves not under my control, the only way is to become normal, standard. Only by making them think I am cooperating as much as possible, only in this way. But I gradually, gradually, gradually can’t do it anymore. In the first half of last year, a senior from the class of 2021 transferred majors as a special talent student through the Lanqiao Cup Provincial First Prize. And I, and I. And I, and I, and I didn’t even have such awareness until recently, that is, the possibility of a special talent student transferring majors is not 0. This also led me to avoid all computer competitions in the first half of last year. I can totally afford the expense without reimbursement. But, the few opportunities given to effort to realize possibilities, real opportunities, just dissipated like this, I only caught their dissipating tails. And the Ladder Tournament, I didn’t participate either. I didn’t, didn’t, didn’t, didn’t either. Didn’t realize at all that I couldn’t, I couldn’t not transfer majors, I couldn’t, I couldn’t stay here any longer, I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I couldn’t. I couldn’t watch what I love from the bottom of my heart with tears being right beside me without grabbing it into my arms, I couldn’t give up even a tiny bit of hope and live ignobly, lingering on with my last breath to spend these few years here. Specifically, I came here purely because its admission score was relatively high. And the ridiculous restriction of not being able to leave the province. I was really confused. Making it seem like you want to go home very much now. Every time back and forth. All haggard. Very hastily, I never thought about my future here, in this major. I purely saw that higher admission score, and thought perhaps transferring from a high score line to a low score line would be easier, so I came here, yes, that’s what I thought, at that time, truly ludicrous. Laughable. Who are you? You who read my text? My secret, finally written down just now. This is perhaps the first time I have spoken my true inner thoughts. True laughable thoughts. I can already see those people laughing, a laugh purely from inner joy but which I will inevitably view as mockery. Which is your laugh. Truly childish. Their shadows are superimposed within the figure of the source of that laugh from pure joy because I got the ranking wrong, the exam wrong, regarding standing in line that winter. Hope he can succeed. He doesn’t have my stain. He can transfer majors successfully. Then my failure, does this competition that doesn’t even have an abbreviation really have any laughable gold content. Your opportunity was a few months ago. It brushed past your face. You are ultimately just a “human”. You are also ultimately just “one person”. A soul alienated under a forced social creature. Many times I thought what I expressed was sadness. But actually, it was anger. Very puzzled.
I almost don’t know what those three words mean to me anymore. But speaking of which, perhaps with your level last year which was lower than your current level, maybe you really couldn’t win any competition. But this is just useless comfort. I can’t stay for a single minute longer. I really can’t stay here for a single minute longer. Not just here, but even more this school, and even more the dormitories with human presence around, and the privacy that never exists, etc. In this sense, the homeroom teacher is really good to me. Pity it’s a bit late. If it could be earlier, if it could be earlier, perhaps it wouldn’t have become like this now.
All my thoughts are very childish. Childish in the true sense of a child, I self-righteously assume too many things, and am blind to seeing too few. But, you may not necessarily be able to see what I see, even if you can, you haven’t temporarily yet. I can’t communicate with people, thus can only rely on certain pure principles given by nature to infer the transformation of things. The human world is too complex. These principles have long been snapped by certain people and certain “combinations of people”. Thus I find it increasingly difficult to understand you all. And you.
And indulging in the comfort zone itself is a very painful behavior. And the frailty of language makes me unable to express accurately.
I perhaps have truly licked death. Beyond that illusory flowing blood light on the wrist and arm, that medicine was also real. I remove the “should” from this assertion. But what’s the use? Who hasn’t died before?! Here, I fade away again. Special. Special. Special. Special. I am no longer special. These two words are truly my shame.
The only object of my chat is the silent you. You are silent like me. To be precise, it is the object I dare to chat with. Only the silent you. Only you will not interrogate me. Changing it like this, it’s much more accurate. I have refused too many others.
Poor me, in this world only I have been truly accepted by you, and only you are what I have truly accepted. I love you so I hurt you. I kill you so I liberate you.
I, ah, so many years have passed, when can you walk out of this gloom? You probably, have never, not been afraid. I am still afraid of the outside world. More and more afraid. More and more afraid.
I still like typing with latency, rather than real-time language, analog-like signals.
I have already lost many, many things. GPA. GPA, and my habits. But I still have a lot. May they all be well after I die.
When I found I could fantasize about the death of all of you without any pain, and without feeling. So I find it quite hard to empathize with you not wanting me to die.
It is now 2024/5/13 16:15:18, transferring majors failed just now. Exactly the same as filling out college entrance exam preferences back then. I simply didn’t have that right. This really can’t help but make me think about the meaning of what I do. The computer skills of people outside the computer major surpassed those with computer science as their major. Truly meaningless. What is the meaning of me winning medals. Under the system, there are only absurd results. Absurd system. I really can’t adapt to the system of this world. System rather than rules. All efforts pounced on empty air. Truly ludicrous. Laughable.
But I want to talk about my mom now. I just recalled the scene of her kneeling down to me, merely asking me to go swimming. Comparing that with, yesterday she threatened me with her death not to commit suicide, comparing like this, she hasn’t changed a bit, she is still just a child, demanding others must satisfy her child. How long has it been and she still hasn’t changed a bit.
I don’t even dare to extravagantly imagine my future. Are medals really useful. No one told me if being a special talent student is still a prerequisite. I don’t know. I can never know. Is ACM really meaningful. Is everything I do really meaningful. They have all been vetoed. All vetoed. Simply simply simply simply simply not giving me a single chance. Really want to greet all your ancestors. I, ah. Only the future me will pity the current me. The people around now don’t understand me at all. Only the future me can understand me. I can also only chat with you, this white paper. Correct, I isolate myself.
I hate my counselor. For no reason.
I have no friends indeed because I refuse friends.
It looks like this is all my fault. This sentence carries no irony.