I long for independence from human. A mote of dust in a distant galaxy, a rock on an undiscovered planet. Without the human mind to grasp and structure. A tree. An organized solar structure, like a star. Magma or a mild grouping of molecules in space. A physical constant like c or h.
Humans all pass into this state, and become matter, but we must loose the human and never return. Hamlet’s undiscovered country. But why choose to die when myriad pleasures come from this human brain. Chemicals whose structures which I have no control over can flood this mind and produce euphoria or despair. So very human.
Self-harm. There have always been at least two types of self harm (hitting or cutting myself) that habitually I engage(d) in. The oldest type is a tantrum: where some extreme of sadness, frustration, and self-rage, as naturally as boiling milk foams over, fire nerve impulses with violent movements. Since I can only blame myself for such tantrums (the emotions are mine), the rage is turned toward the self, and I end up brutalizing my own body in blind and bruising ways.