This petty pace, how slowly life seems to go when you have nothing to look forward to.
My best days are simply days when I don’t want to kill myself… but are they? At least on the other days I feel something. Maybe that is something to look forward to. When time finally stops and the pain is gone forever.
I’ve wasted my life and that’s okay, I did the best I could have done and it’s all I can ask of myself. I think I’ve made the most of what I was born with.
My therapist says that just surviving is a win but I am not sure I believe that. It’s a win for people who are trying to change or who believe change is possible. What a hollow victory, to endure another day in all its slowness.
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I hate to say this, but it’s the harsh reality:
Some people are lucky, some people are not.
Some people live, some people die.
Just like some ants live, & some ants die.
Life is random. Nothing special. We’re just only mere insignificant specks of dust in this vast universe.
You are correct about that. Human beings assign meaning to matter. An uncountable number of subatomic particles held together and given some sort of purpose by other particles. A person is of no more purpose than a stone nearly the entire universe.
Yet here I am shouting into the ether that I am suffering, even if I know the suffering is indiscriminate and there is nothing I can do about it.