I don’t know how to live. With myself. With this experience. I’m so tired. And afraid. I’m not even sure of what. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop I suppose. For all my wretchedness to finally be revealed to the world, and my just deserts to catch up with me. Then there’s this constant nagging craving for any kind of intimacy, which I don’t think I’m capable of finding.
There’s no guide book on how to be this much of a fuckup (at least if you’re not religious). We’re in uncharted waters here.
I want these experiences to end. But I’m too much of a coward. And when I really think about it, I’m not sure it would be the best choice anyway. Maybe it would be for me. But not for my family, who have done more for me than any family should. I don’t want to make them as miserable as I am now.
So I should probably keep living, in the short term at least, while preparing for when things go south.
But I don’t know how to live with this. All I want to do is hide away from the reality of it. But that just stores up problems.
To keep living, you really have to give it your all. But I have so little to give. It takes so much to get myself out of bed, or prepare food, let alone deal with other people.
There’s so little hope, and very little to hold on to. Mostly all there is is tiredness, despair, longing, self-hatred, and fear.
Still, I’ll keep drifting on until it all finally falls apart. I just hope when it does I have the strength to end it.