On the meaninglessness of life

Life is meaningless. Ergo all my attempts to better my quality of life are for nought, as it will end in any case, and everything I do or do not will leave no lasting impact on anyone. No one will ever do anything that is significant in a universal sense, so why even bother? Even on a planetary scale, it is highly unlikely that anything that I do (or do not) will be remembered after only a hundred years. Most likely even sooner. If I died now, the youngest people would remember me are now 7 years old. Some 80 years and they, too, will be dead. During those 80 years, my parents, my siblings, and all my friends will have died. And I will be but words on a plaque somewhere.

It is, for me, impossible to see a way out of this, except the most extreme of all. The final solution. The one impossible to undo. It will hurt, not only me physically, but those around me mentally. My family, my friends.

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