Dec 09, 2016 14:51
Today, the level of upset I feel seems extra overwhelming.
I'm not so much a wreck, but more a functional human with a secretly trembling core. There's nothing to be gained from being perpetually feeling upset, and so as the useless person that I am, I somehow manage to maintain a constant minimum level of distress. It must be a talent. There's always something... There's always one more thing. There's always something else. I wish I would just utterly collapse under the weight of everything, but survival could be such a torturous thing to a damn survivor like me. Must be a talent. Some talent...
I haven't written in ages. Not just here. The novel has sat idle and I want to scrap everything. The closer I get to the end, the closer I want to scrap everything. Well that's always been the case with me. I wonder still if it speaks to the nature of my life and its end, or why I always regret wanting anything because I could never keep anything. I will die alone. I thought I would grow out of this, but it seems 30 as I am, it's still here.
futility