More Difficult

Bouquet

My life is about to become much more difficult.  I just spent sixty hours hiding under my covers.

It wasn’t that long ago that I made up a delusion that this was all for some greater purpose, that this would all have been worth it in the end, that it wasn’t actually possible for someone to ruin their life, that anyone could come back from anything as long as they were still breathing.

I don’t think that’s the case.

I don’t have any idea of what coming back would mean.  I don’t have anywhere to go, and I don’t see the glory in simply surviving.

This latest set back is just an indignity forced on me by failures I committed in the past.  For anyone else, satisfying such a simple requirement would have been child’s play, so while I should just be going on and ignoring this new nasty thing, I see it as another example of why I’m a really terrible person.

I had nightmares all night.

Wow, I really, really hate life.  It’s not anyone’s fault but my own.  I built myself wrong.  I cannot conform.