The Meaningless Life?

         Every time I finish another book it comes down like waves that slowly crumple me, driving me down. These characters whose have an actual meaning continue to live in their worlds, but I’m left in the dark. I think my sense of dread comes from the fact I can relate to the characters better than anyone in real life; they hide nothing from me, and I hide nothing from them. It makes me smirk, after a mere thousand pages I care more about someone I’ve never met, that doesn’t even exist, then anyone I know. I would give up everything to jump into their lives in a heartbeat, just to have a sense of purpose to my life. A destiny. That’s what I used to think I was jealous of in the books but that’s not it; if my destiny is to go through life living an average factory worker there’s the same emptiness I feel now. I want a meaning, I need one so badly I cling to the impossibly enormous meanings these characters lives have, coveting them as if they were my own, hoping that if I want them bad enough they will become my own. Not changing lives but saving them. I used to wonder what the meaning of life was, now I’m pretty sure there is none. I feel like it pushes me to insanity, but then I think maybe I push myself there so I can relate to the turmoil of the characters, the confusion they feel. I hate the inconsequentiality of my actions; the biggest decision I’ll make in a day merely affects others in passing. I wanted to do something that matters, something that gives my life meaning; so I tried to join the army, but no dice. Excitement like I’ve never felt at finally having a purpose, and one phone call later I’m back to square one. Then I asked myself, if I’m saving meaningless lives, does that mean saving them is meaningless? At once I was so sure that saving the most insignificant life would give mine a purpose, but now I doubt that. Maybe at least the guy I wanted to put a bullet in had a meaning to his life. I tell no one these feelings, for no one would take me seriously. I am overdramatic about everything so that people come to not take me seriously, but I couldn’t take someone’s smirk about how dramatic I’m being. I don’t want to live life with my head down, continuing to do the norm if there’s anything out there that would matter. In the last book that is slowly crushing me the shrink says “Go through the motions until one has meaning”, and I feel like I do that every day of my life but no meaning ever comes. I think everyone merely goes through the motions daily, but doesn’t question their insignificancy. “The unexamined life is not worth living”, thanks Socrates, but what if I examine my life all my life but don’t find anything, then what do I do? I don’t know if they have come to accept their lives, or just don’t bother to think about it. I wonder if anyone else feels this way and expresses it, surely their just diagnosed as crazy? I guess that’s what I fear most about these, that I’ll be branded as crazy, or that people will think I’m just craving spotlight, which I am. It makes me so guilty I feel even emptier, first that I would trade everyone that I love to have the meaning these imaginary characters have, but also half of the reason I want it is for the spotlight. My selfishness only drives me further down, and I can’t stand it. Everything I do that should give my life meaning is nothing to me; my family changes lives through the foster system, I volunteer and donate, and I saved a starving dogs life, but they add no real long term purpose. It doesn’t make sense, I’m crushed by a weight that I’ve entirely created myself and can’t move away from. And I’m afraid there is no meaning that will help me bear the weight looming over me.