The Depressing I

I hate working. Why should I be exploited 8 hours a day (possibly even more) in order to survive? I also hate entrepreneurship. Why should I exploit others in order to survive? I even hate the idea of trying to survive. Why should I try a damn hard to survive if we all die in the end? I might as well hate everything, but I suppose I don't

I do have the ability to emphatize with others. I do realize why people are doing what they are doing right now. I just don't understand why must they make me do the same bidding. However, I'm not fully an anarchist or even a nihilist. I suppose I'm still somewhat human, far from the superhuman imagined by Nietzche  (I didn't even read his work so I might as well fabricating his idea).

I am a paradox. A Schrodinger's cat. Again, I don't suppose I understand what that even means, but I somewhat relate myself to it. Maybe I'm a narcissist but I'm not sure. Perhaps I lean closer to Lacan's divided subject, who can't even tell who or what I really am. I don't even know who am I mirrored with. I'm just undecisive, maybe that's what I truly am.

Without even understanding myself, I'm being dragged by this train called the world. It's quite painful, if you must ask. I sometimes envy other people who can accept their fate and live on like the rest of the world. I always ponder how does it feel to be a person free from the boundary of this world, while living poorly, without any relation with others. Trapped in between, I'm truly useless, pathetic being.

I don't even know if I'm actually faking this depressing post. I can't even decide what my feeling is, how miserable. Still, I always try my best to be clear of what I want. Don't even know if I can do it, but I might as well just trying.

Ah, I hate myself. Really.