Another day without her.
Another day with the painful memories of the past.
Another day I need to move my stuff out. 7 days left here at this place that saw everything fall apart.
Another day still don’t know where going to next.
3 cigarettes and memories of how things once were, where things were going, between sips of black coffee, trying to wrap my head around how things came to this. How I became this person, unrecognizable from photos taken only 10 months before.
The fear it’ll never get better, and only possibly worse.
Homeless at 34, abandoned hope for a brighter future, the logical conclusion, what’s the point in going any further if this is all you’ll know?
The person I was feels so distant now, the one who’d smile, who attracted her in the first place, who attracted a lot of people, lost now. Buried beneath the onset of this dark deconstruction.
The slippery slope, leading me to the psych ward, on medications, talking to myself, hair falling out, no true family, so much potential, decimated to dust swiftly blowing away.
What’s even the point of moving out, besides not leaving a burden for someone else?
How I wish I could go back and do otherwise, never move here, but it’s too late, the damage done.
The worst spot have ever found myself in, and that’s after so many worst spots before.
I’m known as that guy, who if it weren’t for bad luck, he’d have no luck at all.
People still care, but I’m so broken, so desperate for release from my daily inner narrative. The one who can’t stop seeing how good things once were, how awful they’ve become.
I’m sorry everyone, this is not uplifting in the least, I know we’re all struggling here, and someone’s pessimistic rant helps little.
I’m just trying to find within myself the strength and determination to press on. It’s just so very hard and oppressive at this particular juncture. I hope you are all having better days. My love to you all.