I managed to win the battle in my head today and woke up at 5am to do the job I don't dread doing.
With it came a very weird, out of nowhere realisation, while sat on the end of my bed in between waking and dreaming. I don't much enjoy my life, nor do I expect much in my future. I still struggle with mental health issues, though now probably on a level that everyone else also deals with, instead of being completely debilitating and self harming. And just like everybody else, I don't much know how to deal with my own demons. They wouldn't be demons if we knew how to deal with them.
What am I doing with my life, exactly? Nothing, I think is a fair answer. I'm never going to be rich. I'm never going to be handsome. I'm never going to have the things my soul is asphyxiating for and rotting without. There is no point in trying. There is no point in existing beyond paying bills, taxes, and repaying my family.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this is a due process. Maybe I'm healing so slowly I don't even realise it. Maybe one day I'll be lucky enough to find something or someone that can answer all these questions in my head and end the ritualistic pain and suffering. Maybe one day I'll thank myself for not having the balls to cut my losses and take responsibility for all my failures. Maybe one day I'll even find enough meaning and joy in life to want to pass this down. Maybe one day something will fall into place and click, to make this all make sense.
And then I realised that quite literally the only thing that decides whether my current state of life is right or not is whether I'm lucky enough to stumble upon a pot of gold in this darkness.
And that just makes everything feel so much more worthless. As if it could get any worse.
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