What Made Me a Nihilistic Monster
One might wonder: what made this fool into a nihilistic monster? Well, to begin with—religion did. Not in the way you might think, but in the sense that it couldn’t answer my questions without relying on “faith.” And faith was something I could never wrap my head around. How can you believe in something you can’t see, hear, touch, or interact with? You’re just supposed to believe. Like it’s some fucked-up game of Dungeons & Dragons. But I don’t feel like role-playing. That’s why I find comfort in my depression—it’s real. The need for death and eternal rest just makes life feel that much more real.
I don’t think I’ve ever been anything other than nihilistic. As a teenager and young adult, I struggled hard with drugs and alcohol because they made me feel something. I lost contact with my emotions as a kid from the abuse I went through at home, so substances became the only thing that made me feel alive. They gave me confidence, made me talk to strangers, made me feel normal—at least for a while.
That life is behind me now. In adulthood, I quit everything. Cocaine, morning beers—all of it. I’m sober. But sobriety came with a price: my sanity. Without the chemical escape, I realized I don’t have much in common with the average person. While most people are fascinated by TV shows, their pets, or whatever, I spend my time watching religious debates or reading old literature like Victor Hugo. I’m a loner, and I hate life around people because they just remind me of the lack of purpose.
When I got sober, the nihilistic traits from my childhood came back stronger than ever. I remembered who I really was. For years I built up a fake persona to hide the shit I’d been through and created a backstory that eventually became “me.” I thought if people saw the real me, they wouldn’t want me around. And I was right.
Since becoming sober, I’ve lost about 99.99999% of my friends. I’ve talked to my family maybe once in the last five years. My coworkers look at me like I’m some kind of weirdo. Am I okay with that? Yeah. Because these people never loved me in the first place—it was always conditional. Which makes me wonder: is unconditional love even real?
Two decades of working shit jobs and constantly starting over after failed relationships eventually shaped me into who I am now: a nihilistic, critical thinker with no filter and no interest in outside approval. I think. I question. I change my mind if the evidence tells me to. And I believe life has no inherent meaning—no inherent value. I didn’t ask to be born, but I do own my consciousness, which means I also own the right to end it.
That, in a way, is my purpose. To live my life, carry it as long as I can, and when it gets too heavy, give myself back to nature and rot in peace.
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