I'm not hungry. I have no appetite. I don't want to see the world. I am content in my bed, on my phone. I want to swallow the world, but I'm not hungry. It's more like a depressive gorging. So I sit in my bed and gorge the world while relativism paralyzes my limbs, and my brain grinds away my anchors in this world, the fixed stars I used to make meaning from. Why was I ever here?
I want every repetition. When joy was taken from you before you ever knew it, you are anxious to repeat every beautiful thing in life. And to think with every repetition, that this for sure must be the last time, and to feel threatened by this thought. Repetition does not take away your fear, and it also does not let you indulge in anything. The only thing it screams of repeatedly is the fear of its own halt.
–NMS