Don't tell my friends and family anything and just spend the entire day with them. Going to beach or having a nice day, whatever. Take lots of pictures. Most importantly, don't tell them. Try to give people you love good memories of you. It's the only way you will live on.
send all my money to poorfrens that need it
orgy with a dozen prostitutes
last meal with all my favorite foods
end with a shotgun to the head, fuck dying tomorrow I'm going out on my own terms
First, I would travel around the world.
Next, I would gamble until I used up almost all my money or won a lot of money
Finally, I would do dangerous things that are not safe since there is no downside in dying.
I would try to cut ties with everyone, get everyone to hate me and think I'm the worst human so that everyone can feel happy about my death and not feel bad. If people can celebrate my death it's perfect.
Everything I do is just going through the motions, like an actor doing what a director tells them. But the director is just the thought I last had when I got tired of thinking things and I conceive an idea of what is expected. My ideology is created to justify the things that I was going to do anyways. I secretly don't care about anything at all. I don't actually love or hate, I'm just really good at lying, even to myself. At what point is the act going to be over and what will be left?
What part of me is me? The one that shows when I talk to the sociable person I don't want to talk to, or the one that sulks in a room reading an abandoned forum? And if both of them are not real and only the product of adapting to my surroundings like a chamaleon?
If I shirk my responsibility today, I know it will come back to bite me later. I have to come up with a good thing to do in my free-time or else it's wasted. Oh, I'd better spend this last day well. What about the last hour or minute or second. At what point do you stop trying to be happy?
I was watching a stream. I sat there sad and alone and made a joke I've made a hundred times before. As expected it got a laugh, but I didn't find it funny at all. If they knew about me, nobody would want me to be around.
My desire to belong has warped my thinking. I once had fun and I justified trying harder than anyone else. For so long I hid behind this idea, but I know I do not belong anywhere.
The only physical contact I've had in my life was like hugging despicable family for psycho pretenses. Then I some random classmate gave me a friendly hug on the last day of elementary school and ever since I get intrusive thoughts about touching and hugging people when I have non-zero positive or sympathetic feelings towards someone. Like earlier I was freeing some random prisoners in an RPG. I understand how weird it is and how people feel about being touched and I will never actually touch anyone, but secretly when I'm having trouble falling asleep I imagine platonically cuddling with people I kinda like. This one time someone was telling me about how their dog bed in their room and stuff and I imagined being the dog to fall asleep. Weird pack-animal brain I'm going to try to stop.
Also at the same time now the concept of touching skin to skin is pretty disgusting to me, not sure when it started to be like this. When I look at someone my brain is immediately draw to blemishes, birthmarks or irregularities and I just see this oily porous mass of multiplying cells.
Loneliness is not something I get used to and overcome, but something that continuously makes me weaker and weaker.
Self inseting oneself in the life of the person one is interested in is common, as well as imagining the various scenarios your life would be pleasing together with this person in the momen you rest. Alienation for a prolonged time can make you adverse yet longing to the idea of meaningful physical contact. But is, in the end, the idea of it. Would an actual, physical, display of affection work and make one feel relieved, or would it put one off and make them feel awkward, despite longing for it? Examples can be seen in the hundreds and thousands. People who are dissatisfied or unhappy with their loneliness at the same time adamantly reject forms of affection, be it because of not knowing how to respond to them, or because they cynically hold themselves in "better" standards than what they're shown and consider themselves worthy of the idea of the one, only, and perfect example of it, thus feeding their own misery.
The rejection of anything external may come from rejecting psychological or physical sides of oneself.
