Is Anyone Authentically Unique?



I am genuine when I say that I am experiencing a crisis of my psyche. I can not reconcile myself with the nature of life, human (mis)behaviour and the general unfairness of the Universe.

My own life story is not a tragedy, but it has been a tough journey. And it’s true to say that I’m not happy. Along the path I have come to force myself to relearn behaviours, changing negative into positive. I’ve read a lot and questioned almost everything. What, who, when, but especially WHY?

Why is Life so unfair?
Why can’t I succeed at anything?
Why do others seem to ‘make it’?
Why do bad people prosper?
Why is a white life worth more than that of a brown or black life?

It’s led me to question the point of being a ‘good’ person in life.

Why exactly do we teach our children to grow up to be ‘good’? Why do we, as a community, follow the rules and the law? Why do we raise money for charity or volunteer for a community group or donate our clothes to the charity bins?

Honestly, why?

And asking these questions has pushed me even further into a blackened hole of despair and hopelessness.

I strongly believe that the majority of people on this planet avoid the depth of despair and apathy for life that I am currently experiencing, by focusing on their children/ family and/or their work. They are able to minimise the questions and doubt by blocking it all out, and by filling their lives and therefore their minds with the business of just getting on with ‘it’.

But I can’t do that.

I have no family. Not one that I was born into or one that I created myself. I lost two of my beautiful dogs only five months ago and I now deliberately push people away after decades of ‘friends’ finding it difficult (or impossible) to deal with my *Asthma*

And so my brain doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop asking “Why?”. This in turn has led to me looking at the value that is placed on life. Not just now – but also in the past. Not just in my corner of the globe – but everywhere.

We have created legends in the memory of people in history. People who have achieved BIG things. Both good and bad. Mostly men, but that’s just how it was. And as I look at these people and see their legacy, and realise the stature of their legend I am pressed to ask, “Are they really that unique?”

Because as I see it, in truth, not a single person that currently, in the past or probably in the future has drawn breath on Earth: is truly unique. Shakespeare, Aristotle, Marie Curie, Einstein, Adolf Hitler, Genghis Khan, Dorothea Mackellar, Douglas Mawson, Theodor Geise (Dr Seuss), Alexander The Great, Marilyn Monroe: can anyone truly argue that these people made an impression on this Earth that NO ONE else could have made? An argument that they would be willing to bet their life on? That the contribution that these historical luminaries made in the history books, was 100% not able to be replicated by another person?

And this in turns leads me to question the value of my life, and why everyone insists that I stay alive. That suicide just isn’t an option because I still have so much to give.

But I can prove that my life has no value,
and that I can guarantee that I will leave no legacy.

Why does everyone continue to say that we are all valuable and have worth? What are we so scared of admitting to ourselves, if we finally say the opposite? Say the Truth? That looking inward gives us purpose, but looking outward leads us to see just how horrifying and unjust life is. Just how horrible humans are to each other and to all the inhabitants of this Earth and even to the Earth itself.

That in order to continue to get up and move each day, with perceived purpose – we must all believe that each life is important. That each life on this Earth has equal value. That no matter where you are born, or the colour of your skin or the belief system that you are born into – you are important.

I wish to god, that I could stop asking “why”, but I can’t.
I wish I could watch reality tv or read women’s magazines or care about what ‘fashion’ I am wearing.
I wish I could learn to be happy in oblivion.

I wish my brain would just shut-the-fuck-up.


*Asthma* is the term I use to describe my Clinical Depression.
I use the word asthma deliberately,
to avoid the usual stigma associated with the term depression.







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