I cannot thrive in a world where I’m pressured to be continually grateful. Grateful because by chance I was born? Grateful because one day I will at random cease to exist? I ought to be grateful that this supposed gift of life was thrust upon me along with billions of others who live in varying degrees of suffering? I’m not grateful I exist. I would be none the wiser if my own existence had not arrived and that, in my times of longing and lament, when I wish I could do no more than sleep for all eternity, that is what brings me comfort. I am not grateful for being born into this world. I scorn this world and I find my existence nothing more than loathsome.