I feel like a cardboard box

TW: suicidal themes (I am not sure if this is necessary but I think it is important to include just in case)

I feel like a cardboard box. Never present of what’s going on in the moment. Even though a cardboard box has the luxury to travel to dozens of places, experience new people, and the ability to be filled with any possibility. But, despite this the cardboard box still isnt alive. It can never be alive because at the end of the day it is an empty shell simply just waiting for the next thing. What is even more depressing is the box has a purpose but still will never find its sense of self. The box just sits waiting as time passes for the next thing. Everytime it hopes this next thing will fulfill something. And when the cardboard box is filled with nothing the emptiness just feels bigger and scarier. What is there to do besides wait? And when the box is filled up it receives no satisfaction, no fulfillment, nothing. The emptiness always lingers. And all this emptiness comes from the scary thoughts of what if I’m not even alive. It doesn’t feel like it is living it is only existing. It is silly to empathize with a cardboard box just as it is silly to emphathize with a human who feels how pointless life is. When a cardboard box is finally used up it is thrown away. It is no longer useful just as I feel when my head is too loud where I can’t even live. I just exist. My thoughts no longer serve me, they just need to be thrown away. A box cuter needs to split me in half just as a cardboard box is cut down when it is no longer valuable. Because what is valuable when you don’t feel the will to live.