To hell and back
There is no hope for what I have always been; a shame: it was the only reality I'd ever known. Looking back I guess there never really was. It was always my self-fulling doomsday theory destiny, and for I while, I reveled in it, like swine in mud. I used to take so much comfort in that nothing in life amounted to anything, but lately, the realization of what life is has gotten to be so real it hurts.
What's even worse, I'm not even sure I'd miss me if I were gone.
Before, I knew that life had no real purpose to it, but it didn't bother me. I realize now that it was only because I was at such an early stage that I wasn't living much of a life at all. Now I am confronted with all of it; after living on my own, struggling to find a decent way to make a living, the continual making and loss of friends...I am finding out what life is about, and discovering that I like it even less than I imagined I would, and worse yet; I hate that there is no purpose for it. Even with all my lofty goals and expectations, the triviality of it all now I find upsetting.
Maybe I had the answer. Maybe the goals are the problem. I was content to let things happen rather than make things happen because I knew in the end it all equaled 0 again anyway. My expectations have always been my downfall.
I guess I have just been pushing myself too hard. I'm taking in too much of life at one time. This cannot be avoided sometimes. What can be is trying to hold onto it all. Too much of the big picture can only turn to serious eye strain.
Well. We'll let that cool for a bit.
That was a hard crash. Soon after the feelings had established their grip, the memories were stirred up too. Everyone has their one great sin, their great regret; and I have them all. The skeletons from my closet danced around me and spoke their words, and the burning of all my cigarettes could not match the embers of my soul. I concluded by the time I flicked the butt in the trash can that I was a terrible person and I deserved to die.
Then I considered that I had done all those things in my past and that I was a different person now. Logically I should have felt better, but emotionally I was still a wreck, and my emotions led me to believe that I was worse off now than I was then, because I still felt bad. That was the thought process that began this entry.
I knew that I had to do something. The old me, of back then, the me that haunts my memory, would have sat and dwelled upon it, driving the point and further convincing me that I was worthless.
Since my recovery, I've been teaching myself to stop and try to find solutions. Initially, the only one that worked was just to sleep it off until the feelings past.
I considered for a moment going to a meeting. It has been a while since I last went, and it might do some good. I decided I didn't really want to talk to strangers, and, if I didn't (couldn't) really listen to what was being said, I wouldn't get anything out of it.
I thought of calling a friend, but then I realized my support group has dwindled to almost nil. It really hit me hard last night that I don't have any friends anymore. Last night I decided I would be fine regardless. Today it only compounded all the other problems. SHort of talking to my mom, I had no one, and I don't really want to do that either.
I decided then that I do prefer to solve my own problems by myself, and began to write.
What's even worse, I'm not even sure I'd miss me if I were gone.
Before, I knew that life had no real purpose to it, but it didn't bother me. I realize now that it was only because I was at such an early stage that I wasn't living much of a life at all. Now I am confronted with all of it; after living on my own, struggling to find a decent way to make a living, the continual making and loss of friends...I am finding out what life is about, and discovering that I like it even less than I imagined I would, and worse yet; I hate that there is no purpose for it. Even with all my lofty goals and expectations, the triviality of it all now I find upsetting.
Maybe I had the answer. Maybe the goals are the problem. I was content to let things happen rather than make things happen because I knew in the end it all equaled 0 again anyway. My expectations have always been my downfall.
I guess I have just been pushing myself too hard. I'm taking in too much of life at one time. This cannot be avoided sometimes. What can be is trying to hold onto it all. Too much of the big picture can only turn to serious eye strain.
Well. We'll let that cool for a bit.
That was a hard crash. Soon after the feelings had established their grip, the memories were stirred up too. Everyone has their one great sin, their great regret; and I have them all. The skeletons from my closet danced around me and spoke their words, and the burning of all my cigarettes could not match the embers of my soul. I concluded by the time I flicked the butt in the trash can that I was a terrible person and I deserved to die.
Then I considered that I had done all those things in my past and that I was a different person now. Logically I should have felt better, but emotionally I was still a wreck, and my emotions led me to believe that I was worse off now than I was then, because I still felt bad. That was the thought process that began this entry.
I knew that I had to do something. The old me, of back then, the me that haunts my memory, would have sat and dwelled upon it, driving the point and further convincing me that I was worthless.
Since my recovery, I've been teaching myself to stop and try to find solutions. Initially, the only one that worked was just to sleep it off until the feelings past.
I considered for a moment going to a meeting. It has been a while since I last went, and it might do some good. I decided I didn't really want to talk to strangers, and, if I didn't (couldn't) really listen to what was being said, I wouldn't get anything out of it.
I thought of calling a friend, but then I realized my support group has dwindled to almost nil. It really hit me hard last night that I don't have any friends anymore. Last night I decided I would be fine regardless. Today it only compounded all the other problems. SHort of talking to my mom, I had no one, and I don't really want to do that either.
I decided then that I do prefer to solve my own problems by myself, and began to write.