Existentialism, and Camus in particular have a lot of influence in my thought patterns. But to Camus, love was one of the central pillars of deriving meaning from nothingness.
And I don’t have that.
In fact, I have significantly less love than before.
I have people that say they care, and in the moment, they mean that. But at the end of the day, I don’t matter enough to check in on, unless I warn them.
I just thought for the first time in my life I would be celebrated and appreciated for who I am.
But the reality is, no matter how much they front or posture, the “normals” will never accept me.
I could offer them salvation on a silver platter, and still be met with disdain.
So, again, what’s the point? What’s the point in trying?