Some days I fucking hate everything. The world is a cold hard placed, designed to make me miserable. There is no purpose. There is no reason. Everything just is. Nothing we accomplish matters, nothing we do will go with us to the grave. All I want is for that day to come, the day I die, because then and only then will I be at peace. No more bullshit. No more misery.
Some days I fucking love everything. The world is a bright and beautiful place, and my purpose is clear. I will be a writer and I will succeed. I will change the bad parts of this world, or at least live to see them change. Everything I do betters me as a person and will help me in future incarnations. Dying is so far in the future its not even something I think about. I enjoy seeing my friends and living life to the fullest. Nature, car rides, loud metal, cigarettes, drugs, hell everything is fun.
There is no in between. I'm miserable or filled with ecstasy. I want to die or I want to live it up. I'm manic or I'm depressed.