The suicide of a culture.

We as a culture may not realize it, but with each act of hatred toward our fellow species, we are writing a new sentence in our suicide note.

What I feel is beyond words to describe, to even try would be a mockery of my present self. I am burning up inside, with feelings of love and iniquity all bottled together congealing. I hate how it is to feel such a strong emotion such as love, bringing myself up knowing I can feel such a wonderful way. I hate it for the fact that it in my case comes with the feeling of iniquity. I feel like I am not only not good enough for the person, but not good enough for the feeling. I feel that my outside appearance, in addition to the tumultuous chasm of emotions inside of me denies me any solace in passionate feelings. While they may still afflict me, they are equally matched by the darker emotions dragging me down to the blackest pits of sorrow. I stare longingly from behind my self-imposed window. The glass growing thicker with every failed attempt outside. I have tried to peer beyond the glass, into the forest of desire which is love. Each time I have had to retreat back beyond the safety of the glass. I have had to come back to the place where I feel the most sorrow, but yet the safest. It is like being in prison. I am in sorrow at being confined, but I feel safe from the dangers of the outside world. A world where people learn from a young age to screw over their fellow man if it suits their selfish desires. A land where someone will die because of materialistic reasons. Staring out beyond the glass though is easier for those I do not know. Even if they reject me, the bond between us is not that strong. My greatest wish is that I could just go to sleep, and not have to worry about this selfish planet, filled with heartless people. Sure there are those who do help others, but in the land I live in, they are few and far in between. I know how easy it would be to end this sorrow, such a simple solution. Whether that is the right thing to do though is still lost on me. While I understand in my case nothing after this life could be any worse than what I have seen here. To think there is a multitude of people tonight who will in unison cry out with empty stomachs, cold skin, sorrowful eyes, and diseased bodies. This fills me with even more dread knowing I cannot save them all. Sure I could help a few, but the system that put them there in the first place is still operating unimpeded. There will be poor always, pathetically struggling. The reason for this is because there will be rich always, pathetically extravagant. While there is greed at the top of our capitalist system, there will be those on the bottom who will suffer. I wonder sometimes if maybe this world is like me, that it does not feel it deserves to be saved. As a species, we are writing our suicide note. We are killing our own, or watching as others do it. We are killing our planet, which in turn will kill us. I see no difference in myself contemplating self-destruction, to the rest of the planet contemplating annihilation as well. Maybe this land feels that it has performed too many atrocities to be deserving of any form of help. Maybe the feeling of joy has been replaced by hate, for hate is easier to find than joy. I have been told time and time again that I should look out from behind my glass, but why should I take the risk? The human race obviously does not wish to look beyond the glass of hate and war, to see the fields of happiness and tolerance. So next time we are told to keep on chugging and not to sputter and die, remember that the same applies to us as a culture, as a nation, as a race, and as a species.