In which she has an existential crisis and casually offends Christianity

Do you ever just sit down and think of how useless you are?
And not necessarily even in a depressed kind of way but just plain amazed of the pointlessness of everything. Because I just got this experience, like wow, I am actually a complete waste of space really. I mean, look at me. Here I am in my smallish student room in one of the most unpleasant cities of Wales just sitting and mindlessly browsing the Internet. I'm trying to be a photography student but instead of engaging with my ongoing projects I'm merely staring into nothingness and thinking of how pathetic I am.

You see, I've always had this need to be somebody, to achieve something and to feel that there's some meaning to or importance in my being here.

It's just really hard to believe in any of those things when you're covered in crumbs of chocolate Digestives, which you definitely should not have eaten because you already consumed half of a lime-cheesecake earlier on, and feeling slightly ill thanks to all of that sugar and fat.

And when I talk about meaning and importance I don't actually mean anything earth-shatteringly massive that would affect the whole humankind and universe.

It's more all kinds of little things, more down to earth and close to myself--

Have you ever pondered how the life of the people you know would be if you'd never existed?
Would it be better or worse, or not very much different in terms of individually experienced goodness or badness? Well, obviously it's impossible to guess because so many things have an unpredictable impact on so many other things, and you can never be sure what was the cause of whichever event and so on. But you know, I just tend to think about highly hypothetical stuff.
Like if I died now, who would it affect and how. Or if someone else died--

and also like less dramatic things than dying or not existing or whatever.

I believe though, that the traces and marks I've left during this life of mine are so tiny and feeble that if they were somehow to be removed not many things would really be different or worse in any way. I'm dispensable and easily replaceable, I'm so un-special and there's really nothing - I'm just me.

Yesterday I saw two films of this American guy, Jonathan Caouette who's come for a visit all the way from the US to over here to present his work and have QA's with students and whatnot.

The first one was a short film called All Flowers in Time and I got to say it was one of the most disturbing things I've ever seen, but very very amazing all the same.

The second one was like an autobiographical feature film called Tarnation, which was one of the most shocking and shattering things I've ever seen. But it too, was breathtaking - mostly in a bad kind of way but still.

I'm not going to sink into detail or analyses. But just, even acknowledging the fact how a stereotypical way of perceiving it is to assume that without a truckload of issues and pain and misery in one's life, one cannot become a real artist because it is agony where art derives from, I still feel even less of a worthy person after those disturbing, impressive, touching films.

I haven't exactly lived wrapped in cottonwool and velvet but my problems are nothing to actually be discussed through art since there is nothing to deal with in them. I have been bullied a little at certain points of my life, I've had some body issues, and played with food in the unhealthy kind of way, I got a step nearer to depression when I had to deal with not having a job or studies for some months etc.

But the greatest tragedy of mine has merely been forced to experience how little I can do about things - how little I really matter.
Basically the only thing that I'm in charge of is the length of my hair, and even that I'm too scared to think about changing. So here we are.

And then you live your life, and keep telling yourself that if you were one of those pretty, skinny, perfect looking people whose facial expressions portrait flawlessly the I-don't-give-a-shit attitude that you'd so much wish to adapt, then you'd be happy and awesome and you'd always have a point.

But you know and I know and they know that there's an illusion bigger than Christianity, and that possessing legs like Kate Moss and face like Scarlett Johansson wouldn't make any difference whatsoever because it wouldn't change the personality inside your brain.
Assuming it lives in the brain.

And if you then are like me, you end up sitting on you lazy bum time and again staring into nothingness with a tower of chocolate cookies and a valley of cheesecakes feeling increasingly more horrible and worthless as the sugary and greasy treats disappear in your mouth. Then you crawl into your bed feeling like an overfed walrus. No. An overfed lonely walrus.

It's not that I don't respect myself as a human being at all. Because I actually do.
For me, every person who is given birth to deserves a full life from that moment on. So yeah, I think I deserve to live just as well as anyone who has been born.
I just don't value myself or my life very high.
Neither do I get the feeling that I'm mentionably valuable for anyone else that I know.

Even more miserable this gets when I start to consider how many people there are in my life that I simply could not live without. And they are like more than one.

It's disgustingly self-pitiful and narcissistic to, you know, wonder if person x or person y misses you when you're away, and to actually wish that they would.
But when you feel physical ache of someone's absence you don't really care how pathetic all of your private thoughts make you.

And honestly, there's like only one thing that I'd have to deal with and loads of other things would suddenly become easier and less stressful.
It's just that this thing has been carefully wrapped in bubble-wrap and plastic covers, then stuffed into a cardboard box, which has been placed inside another, which has been closed with duct tape, locked inside an iron chest, hidden inside a bulletproof safe in a cellar behind an armada of locked doors that are being guarded by seven bloodthirsty lions and a Sphinx.
So good luck with disposing of that issue.

Seriously.

I don't even know.

But I feel worthless and pointless and ugly right now.