What the fuck is consciousness for?
The less socially and personally conscious amongst us seem a lot happier. That's not to say there aren't plenty of intelligent people who are happy...just don't confuse intelligence with consciousness.
Consciousness sometimes moonlights as enlightenment, as a state of satisfaction, as a state of completely unconscious worthiness.
Whether you're staring into the black or completely surrounded by it, consciousness is hell. The thought of being conscious until the day you die "naturally" is a bitter, choking, sticky horse pill. You might try to make yourself less conscious with whatever you can get your hands on, or put all of the shit into a box in your mind until it begins to leak out and won't be stifled. When the seal on the box begins to break (for however many times it may happen), it's like going down a slide that gets faster and faster as you near the bottom. Instead of the thrill of a great ride, there's a monster down there. It doesn't bite or scream or roar, burn you or drown you. It might freeze you. It will keep you away from light. It will place you naked on a cold slab, maybe in whatever corner you can find your way to in the complete darkness. When you reach the bottom, sometimes it feels like dying is the only way to escape it. You might end it early or you might wait, day after miserable endless night, until dying comes to you, ending the voice in your head that tells you what a fucking coward you are not to have taken the reins sooner.
It's hard to get help from that place. Sometimes talking about what's going on worries you that what you say could be perceived as an attention-grab, and you can't stand bringing your darkness to anyone's attention. You can't bring your consciousness out into the light. It's just easier to eat the pain, though it's so rotten you retch between bites, spit between gasps of air.
Less consciousness would be a great kindness.
