Stagnant

Nothing ever changes. Nothing ever gets better. There is almost nothing I can think of that could happen to make my life feel like it’s worth living, and the few things I can imagine seem unattainable. I’ve tried so many times to find a way out of the loneliness, the isolation; to find a sense of purpose so that I could feel like my life is worth something. No matter what I do, I always end up back here again, fantasizing about my heart giving out in my sleep so I simply would not have to wake up in the morning. Or of finding some way to translate all the hurt and anger and despair and desperation into burning out like a phoenix, and rising from the ashes of who I used to be as someone better, someone I could actually have some measure of respect for — someone it could feel worth it to be. Find a way to hit rock bottom and come back from it better than I was before. I would willingly self-destruct from the inside out if I knew that that was a real possibility.

But it’s not. I know that from long experience. I’ve tried so many times to change myself, to be the person I would rather be… and I can never quite seem to get there. I’ve never wanted to be me, but I can never seem to change enough of myself to truly become someone else. Even though I want that more than anything, have always wanted that more than anything. I can’t remember a time when I liked myself. Now I’m 28, and I still dream of running away from home and starting over somewhere fresh, where no one knew me and I could be whoever the hell I want to be. I’ve been dreaming that way since I was, God, under the age of 10. I don’t think there’s ever been a time when I truly liked myself, and I don’t think there ever will be. My choice, as I see it, is change myself utterly, or die. Because I can’t live for another fifty, sixty years hating myself as much as I do now, as I have for more than a decade. But I don’t have enough faith left that I can ever change myself enough. So really, there’s just the one choice after all.

Fuck. I even sound crazy to myself when I talk like this. But the ultimate truth of my life, the only thing I’ve been able to rely on down all these years… is that I would rather die than keep living as the person I am now. I just need to build up enough conviction to finally make myself go through with it. No one and nothing will be worse without me here. I’m worthless. I can’t even help myself.