All that my life seems to be is a series of subtly unrelated events. Without rhyme or reason, and without direction or meaning, all I’ve seemed to do is accumulate seemingly meaningless experience as I blindly play with the strands on the web of life. Alone at the center of the universe, it seems as though I’m merely a spectator of the events that unfold and gradually become my life. Trying to make sense of this confusing mess is like trying to devise a method for cold fusion. Philosophy seems to have lost me, because I keep bringing myself to some sort of existential depression by getting caught in a paradox of circular thought. It is as if I know what I want to believe, but I’ve forgotten how. I haven’t been able to invest any faith into specific ideas, and the only things I have faith in and believe to be true, I don’t understand. I have lost my sense of truth, wisdom, and understanding. I don’t know if I ever had any of them. I no longer have any idea how to believe, how to love, or how to live, and I am quite convinced that I never knew how. It altogether seems to require so much effort, without a goal of any significance to what I long for. Is it ever worth it?