The giving (or not) of a fuck

Starting to not give (as much of) a fuck anymore. Is this a natural reaction to extended periods of suffering – real or imagined? Is the inevitable jadedness and world-weariness of getting older working its endurance-melting magic? Something deep inside has evolved to become moderately wreckless, impulsive, id-centric!

Less fuck-giving.

Chocolate. I want chocolate. I want chocolate lacing through every nerve in my body. I want to become an imperfect, bar-lowering creature who doesn’t give a (chocolate-related) fuck. Chocolate. It is one of life’s escape valves. But I can’t vent steam off through chocolate-based self-destruction, for that would cause anxiety! Not sure I fucking care anymore.

The perverse and hypocritical nature of ‘perfect’ people – exemplified in my particular life by ultra-critical, hyper-self-righteous Mediterreanean grannies – is more depraved than the stink of a thousand, long gutters. There is my sign post – its much better to just let go a bit!

Meds. I stayed away from them because I feared the unknown. Wise at the time. And the pharmaceutical industry can be a dark path. But now I fear being a lifeless zombie far more. Another dark bridge must be crossed, another necessary evil to continue feeling human. A few pills to help dip my toe back into the waters of society. It means surrendering belief that my will and soul alone can carry me the whole way. Meh, meh.

The spiritual healing aspect has helped massively, but it takes time to fully actualize. I need something to tide me over until enlightenment is reached and my soul is cleansed of illusion and shit. Oh yeah.

Not giving (as much of) a fuck.

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