Moldy Tupperware

I could list all the things I did wrong today or all of the things that went wrong on their own, but it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t help. Lately, I’ve been trying to convince myself that I have a purpose. Or at least that I would be missed by someone. The truth is, though, I’ve done such a fantastic job of isolating myself that I’m not sure anybody would even notice let alone care. There’s nobody to blame but myself. I used to believe that I had a shot at building a happy or at least somewhat comfortable life, but that just isn’t true. I’m stuck. Wheels are spinning, but I’m not moving. Just digging the ruts deeper and deeper and too afraid to switch gears. I think if I wasn’t so scared I’d already be gone. I wish I wasn’t so afraid of dying or pain. Just flip the off switch and call it a day. Maybe I’ll work up the nerve eventually. Or maybe I won’t and I’ll spend the rest of my life frozen here feeling like someone scooped out my insides with a ladle and stored them in a Tupperware container that’s sitting in my lap. Who knows really