...

Here's something interesting. My main mode of surviving in this world, my source of food and shelter, is spreading a philosophy. I get paid to clean at a psych ward, to clear up all the debris so that everything runs as smoothly as it can be. I walk past room after room of people getting it drilled into their heads that they don't have the right to die, and I probably wouldn't have my job if I told all the patients there that they do have the right to die. By me existing in that space, silently colluding, actively helping, I'm teaching people left and right that they don't have the right to die.

What does that look like? Why am I here?

To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether to sling the, arrows, or face the, or to... I mean, if it was down to killing myself or the world exploding then it's not really my decision. That's just circumstances by that point doing me in, nothing I can do. If it's literally the exact same if I live or die, there's no reason to live and no reason to die. If there's more reasons to die than reasons to live then that's just circumstances killing you vicariously through your body, like starving to death. If your circumstances are prosperous then of course you'll live, why wouldn't you? That's where people where I work get snagged...

"There must be something wrong with this person's head, their perspective needs to shift. Alongside their neurochemistry." they say, assuming you're priveleged. Frankly it's good business to have you around, and they're saying what they're paid to tell you. "Does anyone here know what a schema is?" The psychiatrist examines your vibes and gives you a shaman treatment procedure based upon a few first impressions, and then it's off to the med spot where they tell you to show your tongue. Somehow this is supposed to help with the feelings you might get from likely never being able to retire, but at least it helps the priveleged.

As for the priveleged: Frankly I think that no reason is a good enough reason, and that no reason is a good enough reason. Go on, live. Wouldn't it be funny?