thehusk

Since it seems I’m not going to be ending my life (at least for the time being), that leaves me trying to improve my current experience. I’m just not sure how. I’m so tired, afraid, isolated, despairing, full of self-hatred etc. Then there’s all the physical discomfort I’m in. I just want to zone out and totally disconnect from reality. But I can’t. If I’m going to try and survive, I need to find some way to function.

But I don’t know how to do that without making myself feel worse. There always seems to be some reminder of my inferiority, my worthlessness, how hopeless it is for me. It just sends me spiralling straight back into the ‘I want to die’ mindset. I’m stuck in this endless loop. I need to figure out some way of engaging with a world that rightfully despises me. But I have nothing to fall back on – no real reasons to live. I’m primarily not killing myself because I’m afraid – of the effect it would have on my parents, and of the possibility of being trapped in a worse state beyond death.

There’s nothing much else for me to live for – no connection is possible. I don’t have the strength in me to face the reality of who I am and my situation. I’m completely alone, floundering in the dark.

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Imagine not being alone. Imagine there was someone you could be around without crippling fear. Imagine being able to let someone, anyone in. Imagine experiencing a sense of peace and contentment. Imagine not having to hide yourself from the world. Imagine not being a twisted evil narcissistic failure of a person. Imagine someone actually knowing you. Imagine emotional intimacy. Imagine a partner, someone truly on your side. Imagine the background hum of dread subsiding. Imagine feeling glad you were alive. Imagine having a future. Imagine not being consumed with shame, guilt and self-hatred. Imagine experiencing real hope again. Imagine not seeing this world as a terrifying ball of threat, loss and misery. Imagine being able to acknowledge the hardships of life without desperately wanting a way out. Imagine feeling gratitude for existence. Imagine going back in time, and doing it all differently. Imagine becoming someone capable of love, contentment and living a full life. Imagine real human connection. Imagine being able to appreciate the moment. Imagine feeling purpose. Imagine warmth. Imagine being ok with reality.

Imagine no longer being what you are. Imagine peace.

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No matter how many times I try and rationally weigh up the idea of ending my life, and decide it’s not time yet, a stubborn part of me just refuses to accept this reality. I just don’t want to live in this world, where I’m this pathetic broken thing. It’s pointless. There’s nothing here for me. I don’t have it in me to be happy anymore. My primary reasons for staying are not wanting to devastate family and fear of death.

But I don’t actually want to live anymore. Not like this. I’ve ruined my life, ruined my self, and there’s no fixing it. I’m just running down the clock, waiting for my loved ones to die. I can do another 15 years, right? Break it down into small chunks. Indulge in a tonne more addictive behaviour. It’ll fly by! But I don’t actually want to. I don’t want to be me, in this world. There’s nothing for me here. I’m wasting space. Wasting life. There could be a functional person in my place, enjoying life, not fucking everything up. Instead there’s me.

Being this hurts. Being me hurts. I don’t know how to live with it. So instead I waste my life away, numbing the days away, looking for any way to escape.

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If it’s preferable to end unnecessary suffering, and I apparently can’t stop myself being miserable, then why aren’t I preparing to end it?

I could say that doing so would make my parents and sister miserable, and that passing my pain on to them wouldn’t be justified. But if it’s love for them that’s stopping me, then why doesn’t that motivate me to pull myself together, instead of constantly dragging them down and stressing them out?

It might be pure unconscious animal survival instinct. But if that’s the case then again, why isn’t it motivating me to do what I need to do to survive long term? I need a reliable source of income, but instead I’m just living off family and my savings, which isn’t sustainable. And if it is survival instinct that’s stopping me from ending my life, is that something I should overcome? Is that even possible?

Maybe it’s lingering attachment to dreams of a life worth living. But if so, why do I feel so hopeless and helpless all the time, certain that nothing is worth doing?

It could be fear of the uncertainty about what happens to consciousness after death. I’m an atheist, but there’s certainly a strong religious element to my psyche. But if that’s it, why isn’t it motivating me to live a morally acceptable life, or even one that I wouldn’t look back on with regret? If I’m so terrified of having to face judgement for the way I’ve lived then why doesn’t that motivate me to be better?

So many questions. I don’t think I know the answers. I don’t know what I believe. I seem to be stuck here, but unable to really accept that fact. I don’t know how to stop being miserable, or make the best of the mess I’ve made of my life. I want to, if I’m going to be here. I want to find some way to accept it, to make my situation as good as it can be. But a part of me is always desperately screaming for a way out, refusing to accept my reality, and that leads me right back here.

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16,425 days. Or 45 years. That’s roughly how much longer I could expect to live, supposing I had an average natural life span. That’s an awfully long time to spend alone, full of self-hatred, guilt, regret, despair, and longing. I’m pretty sure I could take another week, month, year, possibly even another decade like this. But 45 years? And it only gets harder over time, as I get older and memories of happiness fade. I first felt this despair 12 years ago, but I hadn’t sunk so deep then. I could still hold an irrational hope that things would change. But the longer you spend like this, and the older you get, the less space is left for hope. It becomes clearer and clearer that no one can save you from yourself, and that you’re too screwed up to save yourself.

I don’t want to feel like this anymore, but I don’t know how to stop. I want to numb it all away and forget. I want peace. To be tranquillised. Maybe I should try stronger drugs, but I’m scared it would make things worse. I can’t seem to make meditation stick. No matter how many times I remind myself that the self is a delusion, the delusion returns.

I just want not to be me anymore. To swap experiences with someone who isn’t sick in the head. That would be nice. Imagine not having a constant background awareness of your own awfulness. Imagine being able to experience moments of real happiness. I’ve never felt that as an adult. What the fuck is that even like? Having some kind of contentment with the state of your life?

16,425 days from now odds are I’ll be far more bitter, twisted, lonely, and despairing, but still clinging to dreams of a life long gone. I just can’t seem to let go.

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I’m so insanely fucking lonely. And desperate. It’s utterly pathetic. I’ve never not been alone, since I was a kid. I’m too far gone at this point…too isolated and weird. Like I froze my social development at an infant level, but then added all this fucked up stuff on top. I don’t think I’m even capable of being with anyone now. I have no idea how to interact with people in a natural or spontaneous way. I can’t ever relax around others. I hate myself when I’m talking to people. I hate the things that come out of my mouth. I hate myself basically. And that’s not even taking into account all the fucked up awfulness in my mind.

Fuck. I’ve got to find some way to stop wanting to be with someone. Or some way to get to know people that doesn’t make me want to self-immolate. Or I need stronger drugs. Or to finally give up the ghost and end it. I can’t go on wanting like this anymore. It hurts too much.

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The human will is an interesting thing…I can understand intellectually that something is twisted, messed up, evil, harmful, dangerous, unwise…and yet still feel a deep longing to do it.

Which doesn’t mean I will. Obviously I also have significant survival impulses deterring me from more destructive courses of action.

But knowing I’m not going to act on a desire doesn’t make it go away. Instead it just torments me all the more. The longer you deny an urge, the larger it becomes in your psyche.

The question then arises…how do I stop wanting this thing that cannot be acted upon, that is causing me pain? To which there seems to be no clear answer.

Can I choose to enjoy the taste of beetroot, and no longer crave chocolate? Can I choose to enjoy all social interaction, and no longer experience crippling anxiety? Can I choose to find skin irritation or bowel discomfort pleasurable?

If the will is free, then how does one go about changing it? How do you stop wanting what you want?

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Today for the first time my reasons for suicide outweighed my reasons against. Which doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything hasty. I’m still terrified of the idea. But for the first time it seems like the balanced, rational choice, rather than just an emotional reaction. My resistance to it now seems like the irrational emotional response.

I suppose what this mainly reflects is the further erosion of my optimism. I’ve had more time to dwell on what I value in life, and it’s become clearer how slim my chances of finding a meaningful life are. I’ve also been spending more time out and about, which has reminded me how much I struggle to just be around people. I can’t seem to get through a basic social interaction without feeling terrible about myself. So the idea of forging any sort of meaningful connection is laughable.

By far my biggest reason for staying is not wanting to cause devastation to my family, rather than anything in my own life. I have no real life. I’m a shell. But I suppose the thought of them just isn’t enough to outweigh the amount of pain I’m in right now. My own pain just matters more to me than their future pain.

Emotional pain is weird. I guess it’s a kind of delusion. Where is it? Where does it hurt? And yet I’m utterly convinced that I’m in a state of unbearable suffering. My subconscious is constantly in the process of telling me ‘this is terrible, excruciating, awful, unacceptable’. I don’t know how to stop it. How to stop this psych-ache. How to stop hurting myself emotionally. This cycle of despair, self-hatred, guilt, regret, longing, craving. And I don’t know how to live with it. I just want it to stop.

I suppose if my perception stays like this for long enough, maybe I’ll gradually be able to overcome my fear of death.

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I guess I was always somewhat anxious – hesitant, cautious, prone to holding back. But I now find the awareness of all that could go wrong crippling. There are some fairly unique things that could happen to me that don’t threaten most people. But a lot of it is just the general hazard of being alive. What if I get hit by a car, and crippled? What if I’m violently assaulted? What if I get dementia and end up crazily confessing my worst deeds? What if there’s finally a nuclear war? What if at some point in the future an artificial intelligence determines that I’m a deviant and decides to imprison and punish me?

I suppose I’m just a massive coward. Any reminder of how bad existence could get sends me into a tailspin. Any threat of pain terrifies me.

A lot of the time, I’m left with the thought that it would be better to kill myself as quickly and painlessly as possible, to remove any chance of something worse happening to me. But then the thing I’m most afraid of is hell, so that doesn’t seem like such a good choice.

I’m afraid to live, afraid to die, afraid of everything. I’m afraid of existence. I wish I could go back, to when the world seemed a little safer.

But the reality is I have to live with this constant nervous churning in my gut, subconsciously anticipating something terrible.

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Any tips on how to handle it when you have no prospect of things really getting better? It’s not a phase for me – it’s been over a decade like this. I’m too old to believe time will improve anything. This is me now. I’m long past the point where I can see any way out. There’s no hope left.

But I’m still here. I’m too scared to let go, and until something gets drastically worse (which probably will happen eventually), I can’t see that changing.

But I have no idea how to live with this. I’m just full of extreme loneliness, self-hatred, guilt, shame, regret, and it all combines into this crippling despair. Nothing seems worth doing. There’s no peace, no release. Just this awfulness I’ve created around me.

My impulse is to just numb it all away with more self-destructive behaviours, but I don’t want to go too far in that direction anymore. Although I can’t see things getting much better for me now, I’m pretty sure I can still make them significantly worse.

But I don’t know how to live with this experience, day to day, without doing something stupid. Knowing that there’s nothing I can do to make things ok. With no feeling of purpose or comfort. No reason, no future. Just living to delay death.

It seems intolerable. I don’t know how to do it. Continuing to live is killing me inside. I’m a walking open wound. Every crushed hope, every regret – it’s just constant reminders of how shitty I’ve made my own existence, and I don’t know how to stop. There’s no feeling better – just brief periods of denial and distraction, until the reality intrudes once more. Living hurts. Being around people hurts. Thinking about myself hurts. Awareness hurts.

I shouldn’t exist, but I’m too scared to face the leap into darkness.

I need something to get me through until the end comes. Something to take the edge off. Something to tell myself that quiets the desperation. Something to stop myself from self-destructing. I feel like the misery is leaking out of me wherever I go, contaminating everyone around me. I need some way to push it down.

I need a drink, but that would require contact with other people, which would probably make it all feel worse. Not worth it. Guess I’ll settle for a sleeping pill and trying to distract myself from reality until I fall asleep.

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Just having a moan, to try and get some of it out.

I don’t want to live with this reality anymore – where I’m this monstrous, twisted thing. Where I have to hide who I am from everyone because the truth is despicable.

It hurts, and there’s no way to fix it. What’s done is done, the past is in the past. But what’s the point, when you’ve condemned yourself to always being alone? When you can’t ever let anyone in? When you’ve morally isolated yourself from humanity. Where you can never be seen, or known, or feel truly safe with anyone. When you’re that alone, what’s the point?

There is no point to my life. I’ve robbed myself of any possibility of meaning.

I guess I’m just too much of a coward to end it. Either that, or I’m still clinging to some delusional sense that things will just magically shift – that somehow, none of it will matter anymore, and someone will come along and save me from myself. Plus I don’t want to screw up my parents lives more than I already have. They’ve invested so much in trying to help me, more than anyone could expect. To bring down that kind of devastation on them…I don’t think I could do it, not unless something extreme happens. Although if they ever found out the truth that might be worse for them.

But it hurts. So fucking much. Just living with this reality, of who I am, and what I’ve done. I don’t want to face this anymore. I want to escape. I want to be someone else. I want this loneliness & isolation to end. I want peace, love, and understanding.

But I guess I’ll have to settle for a bottle of wine and some electronic entertainment.

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For somebody who loves to think deeply about things, I’m incredibly superficial. On some level the attractiveness of others is all that really has meaning to me. Craving for beauty makes up a vast part of my subconscious.

It’s not that I don’t value personality, or intelligence, or kindness. But it’s always secondary to how I view others. Someone who is visually appealing but stupid or cruel is to be desired or envied in my mind, whereas someone who is strong, wise, compassionate, or entertaining is nevertheless pitiable if they’re plain looking.

Of course, we’re visual creatures, but I think this is a particular pathology of my psychology. It might be down to my lack of close relationships with others, that I’ve never fully learned to value people for who they are rather than what they look like. I’ve somehow never managed to internalise what most take to be obvious.

This part of my mind still seems to be trapped in the mould of a teenager, idealising a crush who’s out of his league. No matter how many people I meet in real life who show me the value of personality and character, and the beauty to be found in the everyday and flawed, this part drags me back to a longing for physical perfection. I’m sure there’s a name for this delusional way of thinking – possibly it’s a specific kind of narcissism. If feels too ingrained to let go of. But perhaps if I can change my lifestyle sufficiently my outlook will naturally adjust.

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For me depression is about no longer being able to believe in the positive futures your mind creates. No matter how much effort I put in,  regardless of how much time and money I spend, I cannot see a future that feels meaningful, that I can believe in. One that motivates me to get out of bed in the morning, or push through all the discomfort and crap that everyday life throws at you.

I cannot imagine a future where I feel a real connection with another human being. Where I have anyone I can be real with. Anyone I don’t feel afraid around, in case they catch a glimpse of my inner wretchedness. I’ve made that impossible for myself. It doesn’t compute. Any scenario I try to concoct, any path toward it, just rings completely hollow. I have no real hope. I’m just grasping desperately at straws, to avoid acknowledging the truth – that there’s no real point to my continued existence.

And that longing doesn’t go away, even when it’s impossible to fulfil. It just festers and torments you. It becomes a source of pointless suffering.

So either I endure the pain of the pointless existence I’ve created for myself, or I pass that pain on to my family, by undermining the meaning they’ve invested so much of their lives in.

There are no good choices here. If I continue to live, I expose myself to pointless suffering. If I end my life I expose my family to that same level of suffering.

I imagine the status quo will prevail, until I run out of road. I’ll continue to do ever more self-destructive things to attempt to block out the hopeless reality, as the pain grows greater month by month.

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Reasons To Kill Myself:

• Bringing my current experience of fear, regret, despair, longing, guilt, shame, & self-hatred to an end.
• Avoiding the risk of more extreme forms of suffering in future – violence, agony, horror, imprisonment, disability, degenerative disease etc.
• Ending my capacity to negatively impact the lives of others.
• No more exhaustion, physical pain or discomfort.

Reasons Not To:

• Doing so seems likely to permanently devastate my family – my parents and sister – good people, who seem relatively happy right now.
• It would end my current capacity for positive experience – no more pleasure, enjoyment, excitement. No more beauty. No music. No more wonder at this universe.
• Finally giving up on the slim chance of happiness returning in future – no love, connection, or contentment.
• Ending any ability to positively impact the lives of others .
• Having to face the risk of a worse existence beyond death – of consciousness somehow surviving in a state of greater suffering.

Each day I make the same choice. And each day I find myself unable to face my current reality, and end up questioning that choice. Perhaps when my parents are dead, or when I’m older and closer to death myself. Maybe when my ability to absorb myself in worldly distractions is reduced. Or when all dreams of happiness are finally vanished. Sooner or later, things will get worse. Hopefully I’ll be able to checkout when they do, rather than being trapped in the misery.

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No suicide for the time being, so gotta focus on making things less painful. Except the pain is leaking out of me, consuming me. I did this to myself. I chose this. I didn’t think it would be like this, but no one ever does. I desperately want to make it stop, but I don’t know how.

Got to focus on making things better. Even though I feel dead inside. Got to figure out a way to stop torturing myself like this. I’m utterly alone, and always will be. No one could ever accept me as I really am. I made myself into this. No way back. Got to find a way to accept it. Take pleasure in the small things. Dismiss the longing deep inside.

Pull yourself out of your bed, with the energy you don’t have. Ignore the dead feeling, the numbing ache, the despair. Focus on making things marginally less bad.

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It’s so absurd, the position I’ve got myself to. To despise myself so much, to feel so utterly worthless, yet still be so attached to being. To the memory of who I used to think I was, before I learned better. To the fantasy of who I could’ve been.

I have no idea how to reconcile those conflicting emotions. I should be dead. I shouldn’t exist. I’m a stain on this earth. But I don’t think I can wipe myself away. I’m still so attached to this world. Or to an idea of it. To being. To thinking. To conceptualising. Addicted to the contents of my own mind.

Perhaps all that lies beneath that is pure survival instinct. Must avoid death long enough to propagate my sub-par genetics. If so, am I even capable of overriding such instincts?

On the one hand, I shouldn’t exist. On the other hand, fear of death. Fear of making the ultimate mistake. Is it rational to fear death, when it comes for us all? But I do. I fear the effects on family. I fear the experience of dying. But mostly, I think I fear the irreversible finality of it. I’m afraid of somehow making the wrong existential decision. What if death isn’t the end, and something worse awaits? What if a meaningful life was possible after all, and I just couldn’t see it?

I can’t see how I’d ever be able to overcome those fears, without something even more terrifying in this world pushing me to do so. Which leaves me stuck here for the foreseeable future.

Rationally, I should be attempting to minimise the amount of suffering I cause myself while here. But I can’t seem to bring myself to do even that. I suppose I’m addicted to my suffering – to scratching away at my psychological scars. To reminding myself what could’ve been. Pain is often the only thing that seems meaningful – without it I’d be lost somehow – just empty and blank. In short, I’m completely fucked.

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I find it so hard to keep hold of a consistent view of reality. I’m not psychotic – I don’t see or hear things that aren’t there. But I am extremely neurotic. My perceptions of this world and it’s nature are constantly fluctuating, from moment to moment, and I don’t know how to cope with that. No matter how many times I hammer out my reasons for continuing to live, and write them down to try to reinforce them, within a few hours I’ll be gripped by despair again and emotionally convinced I’d be better off dead. It’s an endless loop.

I believe my parents would be devastated by my loss, and I don’t want to do that to them. I’m afraid of death, of the experience of dying, of it not being the end. I’m still attached to this existence, and to unrealistic dreams of a life.

But I don’t seem to be strong enough to survive in this world. There seems to be such enormous capacity for suffering all around, and it terrifies me. I want an escape. I want protection. I want to preemptively remove myself from existence before it can hurt me any worse.

I don’t know how to live with that fear – it’s utterly crippling. And I have nothing personal to face it for. I have no prospects, no future, and I’ve put myself beyond any kind of honourable life. No emotional honesty or authenticity possible here. I’m continuing to live purely because at the moment it’s the marginally less terrifying option.

But in doing so I’m making my existence needlessly painful. Because this door in my mind is still open, constantly questioning and examining whether it would be better to end things. So every little negative is picked up and emphasised to the fullest.

I need to draw a line under this somehow, but I don’t know how. I can’t function like this – terrified and despairing of this world, but too afraid to end it. I need strength. I need resolve. I need enough emotional consistency to go a few days without struggling to remind myself why I haven’t ended it as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Let’s face it, what I really need is a personality transplant – to have the brain of someone capable of clarity of perception and not hyper-reactive to every potential threat. But I’m stuck experiencing the world as I do –  a terrifyingly bewildering place that I mostly just want to avoid.

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Desire is the problem. If I could just let go…I would be so much more functional. Imagine being able to fall asleep without this longing gnawing away at me.

It’s just programmed too deep inside of me. I can’t picture life being worthwhile without it. It’s like an article of faith at this point. A secular religion.

Wipe all that away, and what’s left?

But I should. I should give up the ghost, somehow. No more false hopes or delusions. Just compassionate, selfless pragmatism. If I could kill my desires and wants, then perhaps I’d stop thinking about killing myself. No more torturing myself. Just peaceful emptiness.

How do you make yourself not want anymore? Not care. Desire nothing. Pursue nothing.

But then why live? Fear of dying?

This pathetic, delusional part of me keeps insisting that if only it gets what it wants, all will be well.

I like to think myself a rational person. But with this…I just can’t seem to acknowledge the truth. It is literally a matter of faith at this point. No amount of contrary evidence can apparently reason me out of it. I am the most brainwashed of fundamentalists. This is the foundation upon which everything else is built, and I just can’t seem to give it up. A world without it is not one I want to live in. So every night finds me praying to the God of Desire, and longing for the promised land where my wishes will finally be fulfilled. It seems reason really is the slave of the passions. Pathetic.

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It’s truly pathetic how much of my life I spend longing after ‘what could’ve been’. Such a seemingly simple, basic thing becomes a source of endless misery and regret, when in theory it could’ve been so easy.

But now it’s too late. And I get to enjoy endless reminders of that fact. ”Hey look, it’s that thing that feels most vital and important in the world to you. Except now you’re past it. Too bad!”

Such a fundamental, elemental thing, and it still all comes down to right place, right time. You miss the boat, then that’s it. You get to live with your constant longing and regret. Tough shit. Life rolls on, and the next contender is ready and waiting.

But even back when it was the right time, I wasn’t the right person. It’s not like no-one ever warned me, ”Make the most of your youth, or you’ll regret it.” But I always thought I’d have more time to put myself together. I figured it would eventually just work out on it’s own, without having to go outside my comfort zone. Instead things just got worse and worse, and I fell further and further behind the curve.

The truth is I was so terrified of facing more rejection. I couldn’t take feeling any worse about myself. So I avoided any situation where I would have to risk being judged as inferior, and told myself that I would improve myself to the point where I wouldn’t have to fear that anymore. And in the meantime maybe happiness would just fall into my lap without me having to risk anything. So I wasted whatever opportunities were open to me, and now it’s too late.

I wish I could just forget it all and focus on what little remains for me, but unfortunately that’s not how feelings work. You want what you want. So I’m constantly causing myself pointless suffering, being reminded of it, and why I want it, and why I can’t have it.

I want to just stop, but…fear holds me back. I fear the experience of dying. I fear my consciousness somehow persisting, trapped with this regret and despair. I fear judgement and punishment. I fear the effects on my family.

And I fear letting go of the possibilities of this world, even though now they’re beyond me. While there’s life there’s hope, however delusional. Things could so easily still be good…if only life were simple. But it’s not. So I rot away, pointlessly suffering, waiting for something to tip me over the edge. Pathetic.

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I think perhaps part of what led me here is a failure to adjust to reality, in comparison to those around me. There were others dealt far worse hands in life, who still managed to make something of themselves. It seems they confronted the cruelty of their circumstances, adjusted their expectations appropriately, and worked out how to make the best of what they had. I don’t think I ever understood how to do that. When confronted with a harsh truth, my response was generally to retreat into fantasy. Whenever I hit a real obstacle, I gave up.

I’m not sure why that was. Perhaps things were just too easy in my early years. I never really wanted for anything, so I never had to learn to deal with not getting it. We weren’t rich, and I wouldn’t say I was spoiled exactly. Just sheltered. My world was a narrow filtered ideal. I enjoyed what I had, and I generally wasn’t aware of what was beyond me. Maybe at some point I was mildly jealous of a richer friends computers or trips to disneyland. But it didn’t really matter. None of that stuff meant that much to me.

But then suddenly I was living in a new area, aware of hostility around me for the first time, and I had no idea how to cope. How do you deal with people who don’t like you? How do you make friends when you can’t relate to the lives of those around you? I responded by shutting down, obsessively censoring what I said and did, trying to hide all my weaknesses, and withdrawing into fantasy worlds.

It wasn’t until a few years later that I first had the experience of really wanting something, something that felt important. The reality check was crushing when it hit me, that what I wanted was so far beyond me. I had no idea how to deal with that reality, with the feeling of inferiority it solidified in my mind. That I was unpopular. Socially awkward. Kind of average looking. Weak, hypersensitive, and timid. It was absurd for me to ever set my sights so high.

Now there are two ways I could’ve responded to this terrible feeling of inadequacy. I could’ve resolved to do everything possible to improve myself, my character, my capabilities, to fix the huge weaknesses I’d somehow managed to develop over the preceding years. And maybe if I’d really set to it I would’ve eventually reached my aspiration. Or at least found something similarly meaningful along the way. Who knows. It would’ve been a long shot, but I can’t rule it out.

Or I could’ve simply adjusted my aspirations, and moved on. Accepted my place in the pecking order, and focused on making the best of it. Stopped wanting what I couldn’t have, and returned to appreciating all I already had. This is what seems to have happened with so many people around me who had it harder than me, and I have no idea how they did it. How do you move on? How do you accept a world that sees you as less than, and not let it bug you? How do you stop wanting what’s beyond you? How do you make what remains to you seem meaningful again?

So instead I chose a third option. I would obsessively fantasise about what I couldn’t have, while doing next to nothing to change the things about myself that made it beyond me. I told myself that if I just carried on following my flawed instincts long enough, eventually I’d be magically rewarded with success. Guess how that worked out?

So now those dreams are far behind me, and getting further away by the year. It’s not possible anymore, not in a way that I’d want. And yet that part of me is still as strong as ever, obsessing away. It’s ridiculous. Pathetic. Move the fuck on. But I don’t know how. Perhaps it’s just a kind of stubbornness that runs through me. A refusal to adjust when it comes to what seems significant.

Reminders are constant and painful, but they also feel good. It feels good to want something, anything, so strongly. To have that kind of emotional clarity about anything in my life. To feel that if only I had this impossible thing, I would be at peace again. Everything else is tedious and bleak. A slow shuffle toward decrepitude and death, dominated by fear and confusion, where nothing seems worthwhile. Surely preferable to be reminded of something that feels like it would actually make life meaningful again, even if now you can never have it? Fantasy is the opiate of the failure.

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