I have never really aimed for anything in “this world”. I never really felt any meaning or purpose in this existence. It was heavy, sad, depressing, downweighing. Humans were no beings to trust, no matter how much I loved them, or how dependent I was on their love. Also, I was a human.
When I was seven years old I consciously rather wanted to be dead than alive. When I was eleven, I became aware of the possibility of suicide. However, something “not-me” kept me from following this, in such a way that suicide could never become a serious act beyond its ideation. I didn’t want to live. I hated life. I hated to feel, to fear. All of it. I felt no joy, no value. All just seemed to be between being pointless and misery.
But something “not-me” just never cared and cares. It lives indifferently and curiously through all my emotions, through all my memories, through all my experience, through all my existence, as if it were merely perceiving and collecting this life as raw data and information.
This indifference has something benevolent, non-judgmental, and allowing. Whatever is, is. Be it. It is utterly fearless, no matter if I thought I was going out of my mind and becoming insane or experiencing the loss of control in the physical.
This “not-me” looked through my eyes when I couldn’t see anymore. It was awake when I was deeply asleep. It picked me up when I was shattered all over the place. It sees everything, it feels everything, it is aware of everything. It is what is still alive when “I” had long given up on life. It has such an extensive understanding, the mainly rational and linear mind cannot grasp.
It threw “me” out of the system, ruthlessly. Without remorse. And now it feeds me with increasingly healthy thoughts and feelings and experience.
I am done, I am ready. This is the end, this is the beginning.