I’m still so far from a life that would feel meaningful. Or even doing anything tangible to pursue such a life. Or even maintaining a stable enough mental/emotional state to be capable of planning anything tangible.
All I can bring myself to attempt right now is to reduce the frequency at which I self-destruct. To resist the urge to do something completely counterproductive, just to allow me to briefly feel something that isn’t this. For some kind of distraction from this gnawing banal emptiness where a life should be.
And I fear that may be the most I can ever manage – to slow the rate at which things fall apart. And that thought lowers me to a new level of despair.
I need something to get me through to tomorrow. To get my mind out of this state. Sleeping pills won’t work for a third night in a row. My stomach’s flared up so I can’t eat my way to a better mood. I don’t have the energy for video games or reading. I need some new kind of escape.