I’m sandwiched between the problem of good and the problem of evil. Clearly there is some “design” to this – there is constancy to phenomena and there is abundant mercy (considering the fact that existence could have been eternal hell.) Why isn’t it hell? Why isn’t the totality of conscious experience limited to a slice of stressful qualia on loop? Why do I not suffer from perpetual pain or exist as a diffuse blob of burn and itch? This is the problem of good, or perhaps more conservatively if we don’t want to go so far as to call existence good, then the problem of mercy. There seems to be no reason that a hedonically blind, neutral, purely random existence would take such care with my day to day reality.
But then there’s the problem of evil in its most general form. Even without postulating an omnipotent, omnibenevolent, and omniscient God, there should be an explanation for the unnecessary suffering, malaise, and evidence of bad design all over my conscious experience. I think that the argument from evil which says that God either doesn’t exist or doesn’t have all three of the properties is self-evidently true. No theodicy can be written which can undo my suffering so I don’t see myself changing opinion on the matter any time soon. If animals exist “when I’m not looking,” in other words that they are not simulated entities merely existing inside my conscious experience, then God and humanity are evil, and by evil I mean evil as hell, diabolical. The amount of sheer cruelty that is to be believed cannot be properly understood while remaining sane. Maybe not everyone is troubled by the ambient dukkha of others, but I’ve had at least an instance where I had to wake up in the middle of the night due to feeling tormented by the suffering of the world; I’ve been so dissatisfied with the world that I’ve tried to end it. I’m not so concerned with the problem of evil as it applies to monotheistic religions, I think the problem of evil exists in a polytheistic and a non-theistic context. There has to be an explanation for evil given that there are hints of design and of good, not of sheer chaos or neutral blindness. My partial solution lately arises from an unmistakably clear and strong feeling, the feeling that all the massive suffering I used to believe in is not real. Ever since I started feeling people as simulated and every instance of witnessing or interacting with them as a set-up, it became clear that reality was not what I had been led to believe. It is contrived by the Hand of God, not evolving bottom-up from basic laws. It can be said that the scales fell from my eyes with regards to the advanced technology and highly functioning society that we wield relative to human intelligence and also the myth of history. So humans are way more effective creatures than myself or all of their efficiency is simulated. History as I learned it simply didn’t happen. The past as described in written documents is fiction. I don’t believe there was a prehistory and then the establishment of history with written records that were preserved as time passed and strewn along to create a True Story, available on Wikipedia today. There is no memory and no discovery, just a collection of fictional events organized and presented so as to remove the skeptical interpretation of reality which I endorse. There is a downside to my current view of reality however. There’s something uncanny about the artificial gloss that people now wear as they act out their scenes.
I still don’t understand the real reason why I exist. This is my main concern. But I try to conceive of my situation as being a soul going burning through a big, bad bridge before I die and witness the truth. The God Hand is not fully benevolent as it has caused me suffering and also attempted to deceive me with the false suffering of others. But I must be clear that I’m not certain that their suffering is false; it’s only a hunch. Although this is counter to my psilocybin experience where I was reminded that suffering is real. I wonder what the other psychedelics have to say about this. My previous attempt at DMT failed, but I want to discover what the afterlife is like and hopefully clear up the whole suffering thing. I met with a therapist who gave me the bullshit about a balance. He also said that people overcome their suffering and think that the gift of life is worth it despite all of it. I hate his view of life. Even as powerless marionette that I am I will use my last breath to curse God for having created a single drop of suffering. Life is not a gift but a prison. I dream of breaking these iron bars, of black nights without moon or stars.
Before I try to kill myself again, I try to tell myself: Stop panicking.
I am living in a simulation in several senses. In the sense that situations and interactions are contrived or fated; In the sense that there’s a hard to unsee artificial gloss over people. And the glimpses of civilization that I get in my day to day life show something which runs way too smoothly for mere humans, with the main point of reference for what a human is being myself. Humans are either orders of magnitude more effective creatures than me or their success is due to being in a simulation of some kind. I also believe human history is a lie, that suffering is largely a lie, and even that my previously cherished natural selection doesn’t convincingly and adequately account for music, language, synchronicity, functional complexity, and the specificity of entheogen effects, or my consciousness and the apparent simulation as a whole. I remember debating a creationist and how convinced I was that the watchmaker was blind, that it all just happened, it all just came together through an arduous process of evolution of which we were just a byproduct and not central in any fundamental sense. Now I see that there was no accident but a very careful fine tuning of conscious reality. What bothers me now far more than the uncaring abandon of blind natural selection is that it seems to be intentionally imperfect, intentionally bullying me, intentionally tough love or teaching me a lesson or whatever annoying thing it’s doing.
There are also strange events. My parents permanently changed to an unreasonable degree after my hospitalization for “psychosis.” I cannot explain it except by suggesting that my previously held intuitions about what is scientifically accurate or psychologically possible were wrong. I’m also certain that I was communicating with an intelligence through browsing social media and watching YouTube videos. I’m also pretty certain that I experienced a sort of God on psilocybin, what McKenna calls a robotic, cybernetic, disembodied, a sort of girlfriend from hyperspace. The superintelligence moved my hand in new patterns as if showing me, “See what I can do? I am in control.” Eventually, I went to the bathroom and cried. It was both sorrowful longing, and crying out of understanding.
There’s also my experience with the police just recognizing me walking down a mall and working with the hospital to get me to take their drugs and treatment.
I’m in a simulation on many levels, although I’m not sure if I’m technically in a simulation a la Bostrom. I doubt reality and its ultimate narrative are as “physical” as my scientific education led me to believe.
I’m totally open to the idea that I’m suffering from a psychotic delusion, but it seems to me like sex isn’t real. That leaves only romance and spiritual connection as “possibilities.”
I also hate that I’m in a body. I used to really take care of my body. I would go so far as to eat the exact same routine diet every single day for about five years. I would lift weights and run every day. I would even do it while depressed and crying. Yes, I was pretty jacked, just how I wanted to be. But what was the point? Was the sacrifice honestly worth it? I don’t think so. Now I just eat whatever and don’t workout. I would have had trouble approaching and speaking to a girl when I didn’t see the simulation and I had the body of a model. Now that I have an average person’s body and have this feeling of the uncanny when I see people, I wouldn’t dare approach a girl. But the truth is I never had a desire to do so. My main concern is to discover the truth and I view the postulated relationship ideal as a scam, as something meant to distract from my true purpose which probably involves lots of psychedelics. I’ve always been pretty Buddhist about these kinds of things. By that I mean that I view romance as desire and attachment which degrades my capacity to feel wiser emotions such as universal compassion. My fate is to be alone in this life and that makes it easier to kill myself whenever I deem fit... in theory.
I don’t know how to relate to “people” anymore. I don’t believe them and I don’t know what they even are. Talking to no one part 2. I just know that they want to keep me alive, perhaps even punish me, and that they feel alien to me; very much unlike me both in their accomplishments and in their day to day capacities, outlooks and concerns. Money is not something I can just be allowed to make in a free capitalist society the way I thought when I was younger. It is tightly set up to not allow me to make money. This is not an accident. Death is the same. It is not something I can just partake in. There’s a reason it’s so difficult to kill myself.
Sex isn’t real. People’s lives aren’t real. History isn’t real. Current events aren’t real. Only my suffering is real. I long for an end to it. I don’t deserve this God. Please forgive me.
Or perhaps it’s all real, just surreal. I find myself thinking, “Did these people really have sex? Did this baby really just form inside of this person? Do these molecular machines really exist?” Perhaps people do live out their very own particular injustices day in and day out – other independent souls bound to these mortal vehicles in the same way as myself, and it’s just so difficult for me to fathom the inhumanity of it all, of our separateness and of the cruelty of randomness that results from closed individualism.
I wish I was dead like XXXTentacion. He wanted to die and he got what he asked for. We’re the same age. I want to die young.
Is depression an art form? My depressing life a particular vintage taste in the sea of qualia varieties.
Was this life a choice or do the strings of samsara stretch far beyond the abyss of eternity? All I know is that I don’t have free will no matter how I look at it. My actions and thoughts simply arise of their own accord. I cannot account for why I did what I just did. It’s a movie set up to feel like a game.
Besides hating myself deeply I also hate people. It hurts to hate them because I don’t want to hate them. I just know that we are different. There’s an unbridgeable chasm because I am not one of them. I can’t do what they do. I’m just a passing observer. They don’t feel real to me, not fully.
It seems plausible to me that my existence is a punishment. It’s better to think of it as a punishment or bad karma than to believe in evil for the sake of evil. Perhaps the only way to prevent my consciousness from doing something bad that it did in the “past” is by punishing it with this birth. Here humans create beautiful music and beautiful technology but they are also sheer evil because they breed without a qualm and because of what they do to animals.
I am now a polytheist. I believe there are gods or entities that exist and are not entirely from this world. I believe in all the DMT stories and had an interesting experience myself with psilocybin. However I still believe the stories are part of the architecture of the simulation and not entirely the honest reports of people like myself. I believe that people are not like myself.
Returning to the topic of my body, this is a recent comment in one of my stupid videos:
Your body is really sexy. Please come to L.A. so we can play with each other. Every time I see you shirtless I get super excited. I can’t believe your body looks like that. It’s so sexy I’m just frustrated I can’t touch it. Please come to L.A.
I hope that whoever is saying this is a hot girl. But in any case I no longer have that body. It’s weird to receive compliments not directed at me but at a past iteration of myself. I can own it and yet not.
I was way cooler when I was disciplined and got up at 6:00 to run. Now I’m just laid back and ugly.
Luckily no one has to see me. That’s because I am a solipsist. I don’t believe there are conscious experiences behind the others eyes. I am talking to no one but myself. I don’t feel lonely because you are all such convincing simulations.