Is life supposed to be hell? I'm not sure I would have signed up for this if this is all there is. In fact, I think I prefer hell. Then at least I'd know that I deserved it. And I could stop trying. And stop waiting for things to get better, stop hoping. That sounds like an improvement. This is not fire and brimstone anguish--more the eternal slow drip of corrosive acid on my soul. Each day is a fight to just do this stuff. Endless. Fight fight fight fight. For what? There is no satisfaction. There is no pleasure. There is no contentment. I work and then I escape my thoughts and try to escape my emotions. When I do accomplish something, my reward is a reduction in shame and guilt. But slight. And the gargantuan effort hardly seems worth that but I do it anyway. We do it anyway. Having to wait 45 minutes at the drugstore because the hoochies don't announce when it's ready anymore, reduces me to tears and fury.
My job terrifies me. The only way I can get through it is by pretending it's not real. By not thinking about it at all. I show up, put on my dog and pony show--and try to smile like they told me to then go home and lose myself in assinine television. The worst thing is that I know how wrong I am, I know how disgusting I sound. I am unbelievably privileged and I pee on my life. But if I quit, then I really might kill myself for the shame and self-hatred of it. As it is, I'm NOT suicidal. I'm bored and dissatisfied to the point of rage. I try so hard to make this stop and get better. I live with my drill sergeant in my head, and we hate each other. Because it doesn't work.
I'm living on the cliff of madness. Hanging on with my fingernails to rationality and order. But my fingers are bloody and sore. Why am I still hanging here? The wind bangs me against the cliff bruising me. What's there to make it worth holding on? My best friend in Georgia wants to kill herself and there is nothing I can do from here. I turned in that paper I spent 6 months on and it's bad. They want to talk to me about it. It was all I could do not to sick up on the professor as he told me. Men want to get in my pants and I want to tell them all to go to hell. There's never enough money. I just dropped 150 for medications that may be making me worse for all I know. I killed my parasites and now none of my clothes fit anymore. People in the gulf...
My doctor thinks it is time to check me in somewhere for a week. I told her that was impossible without insurance. She seems to think there are ways around that. I think she is being naive, she just got out of medical school.
Life is moving from one unpleasant ordeal to the next, to wake in the morning to a litnany of fears making me want to stay in bed. The knowledge that I am losing time, wasting it, getting older is a constant undercurrent making me sick. Reality becomes more and more vague as I detach myself in order to continue, more unreal and insignificant compared to sanctuary of my mind. I just don't get the point of this. I'm not getting stronger or better or learning. I deteriorate. I become a worse person. Life is a test? Adversity is for our own good? Obviously I fail. I have 60 more years of this? Is this what I hung on through everything else for? Is this what I have been waiting for and straining for? Well, it sucks.