The definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different result...sure. But you can't tell me that anybody is crazier than Chantal, who does the same thing again and again and expects the same result, a different result, no result, any result, doesn't matter...she just has an endless loop of complete meaninglessness that she perpetuates and engages in, one that would literally drive anyone else into the confines of a straitjacket and a padded van.
Imagine her life. A constant vortex of zilch. Emptiness. A never-ending, bottomless, formless, black mass of fuck-all. Every single day, waking up knowing that your day is going to consist of nothing. No productivity, no progression, no human interaction, no insight or epiphany, no emotional response to anything, no substance, nobody and nothing to give your life shape or purpose or a desire to propel yourself forward. No family or friends, no love or like, no sunrise or sunset, nothingness.
And that's what you want.
Chantal wakes up when she feels like it, gets a bunch of meaningless money dumped into her bank account every month that she didn't work for, invests in nothing, sees nobody, does less than zero. She doesn't bathe herself, she doesn't set an alarm. She doesn't make sure to see the sun rise or the sun set. She doesn't make a cup of coffee at home and drink it on her balcony. She doesn't wash her face, she doesn't wash her body, she doesn't brush her teeth, she doesn't take clean clothes off her hanger or from a drawer to wear. She turns on her livestream for every single moment that she is conscious so she can watch words scroll by for hours and hours from people she has never met and never will meet, who don't know her and whom she doesn't know.
She drives to get warm liquid sugar in a cup, and reheated, frozen, processed garbage that she calls food. She annihilates herself on THC and uppers and downers for most of the time she's awake. She has no home of her own, no social life, no friends or acquaintances, no family to spend time with, no job, no hobbies, no passions, no drive, no motivation, no reason to do anything whatsoever. She exists in a psychological vacuum and in a prison consisting of hundreds of pounds of body fat and ravaged, dying organs.
For most people, this would be hell on earth; this would surpass extreme depression. Just a fraction of what I've described would be the impetus for permanent hospitalization, hospice care, or just plain offing yourself because there's no conceivable way out.
Now imagine: You want all of that. You love how things are for you. You think you're a celebrity, someone to envy, a complete success story and a social influencer.
This is Chantal.
Doing the same thing again and again and again.
03/07/22
