(written August 2013)
Today it occurs to me that I may as well accept my broken-ness.
I may as well stop waiting for anything to change.
I took the risk, gave my all, and lost everything. So what?
That’s life. That’s bitterness. That’s irony. That’s people, we make choices and then have to live with the mess.
Do I regret it? Not for a second. I was right to try, even if it didn’t work out. It was love, even if it didn’t last forever.
So here I am, six months later. I am no longer wracked by grief each moment of each day. But… there is a void, a dark, empty place inside me, that won’t go away, no matter what. I may as well acknowledge it, invite it, allow it to play its part, whatever that may be.
Perhaps the urge to paint everything black, to start over from scratch, isn’t a bad idea after all.
After all, what do I have to hang on to? All I know for sure is that I don’t know anything.
Each day I wonder, what on earth am I doing??? The answer is: nothing. Just… existing. None of it means anything.
Habits. Expectations. Routine. It’s All The Same.
Survival. Getting older. I wanted my life to be some kind of journey, some kind of path with a destination, but deep down I suspect that all that stuff is just baloney I tried to believe so that it wouldn’t seem so futile.
There is nowhere to go, and no one to become. It’s All The Same, and I don’t care anymore.
I don’t care if I succeed. I don’t care if I fail. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I don’t care if I ever find love again.
I don’t care if I live or die. It’s All The Same!
Is it depression, or just absence of illusion? I’m not unhappy, just… empty. It’s peaceful.
But loneliness takes it’s toll. I long for someone to talk with, who could understand. I wish for some kind of release from this dreary repetition. I hope for… some revelation that will make it all worthwhile.
In the meantime, I suppose I will continue.