I sit here for a fifth time this morning, thinking of writing a post and the words simply are not coming to me. I’ve written so much in the past few years about how much I hate my life. I’ve gone on and on about how difficult it’s been coming to terms with my sexuality. I’ve lamented my struggling marriage. And gawd knows I’ve done plenty of whining about my career and lack of success and the major financial challenges I have. I’ve wallowed over my health and weight, wanting to do something different with myself. I’ve confused my own depression and anxiety for addiction to alcohol, trying to find some excuse for my unhappiness. I’ve discussed my relationship with God, my experiences trying to practice my faith from childhood, made honest attempts to reconcile myself to something higher than myself. I sat down here five different times to write a post, to discuss something, anything, purely out of a some delusional need to feel connected to people and have myself validated. But I think I am getting to a point where I am bored with my own self-loathing.
Nothing seems to change for me, and I “stay the course” believing that something has to get better, if I simply keep trying. Maybe I’m destined to be fucked-up? Sometimes I ponder that, maybe the hand I was dealt in life just means that struggle is my normal and my life is simply what it is and that there really is nothing more for me. Sometimes I wonder how possible it is for all of us to truly accomplish our dreams? If that were the case, wouldn’t we all be driving fast cars and partying like rock stars? I can’t help but wonder if all of our struggles are meaningless, because not everyone will get where they want to be in life.
Of course, this also gives me pause to question my priorities. Maybe I’m all fucked up on my priorities. Should I realign something in my life that puts more of my attention and focus on that? But I know, that everything is woven so tightly, that giving an inch on one little thing can cause the entire fragile existence of my life to crumble. And yet, I feel like this is a challenge I continue to wrap myself up into. Like one big, convoluted, mess of a ball of yarn that is so tangled that there is no hope of unraveling it into one piece of string. No, it’s like it has to be destroyed to make it all come undone.
And that, is exactly how I feel.
I was going to say more…but I feel myself getting pissed off as I write.