I feel terrible. At the same time, I feel like there’s no reason and there are all the reasons in the world. I don’t want to feel this way anymore, so I’m going to type things out until I feel better or at least different.
Today wasn’t all bad. I left the house as the trash was being collected, and I gave the driver a little salute. He smiled back. That was nice.
I was running ahead of time for once, so I got a coffee from a relatively new cafe around the corner from work. Despite being a bit awkward, I had a chat with the owner of the place, and we talked about New Zealand. He asked me if I’ve ever been married, and I forgot about that until now, but I’m sure I can ignore it some more. The coffee wasn’t bad. I may go there again, I may not. It was OK.
Despite only being here for roughly three-and-a-half months, I gave someone directions to the nearest station today. They were an older couple, with who I assumed to be their grandson in a stroller. I felt quite good about being able to do that, and being approachable enough to be asked. I later questioned this, as I realised that they’d have to deal with some stairs on their way, and I felt like a bit of an idiot.
My heart keeps sinking. I keep thinking about sad things. I keep trying to remind myself that I’m a nice person who means well, but I’m really not very sure about that. I’m all over the place, and it’s tiring. I don’t really live for anything anymore. I have no real drive or passion. Anything positive or constructive I do feels as if I’ve done it by accident or coincidence, and never feels like it has any lasting effect.
I’m just going through the motions again. I repeat this shitty little routine I’ve made for myself in an attempt to feel like I’m working towards something. Honestly, though? I’m not. I don’t know what I’m doing. I keep alternating between feeling a little bit hopeful, and wishing I was never born. I remember a time when I used to be spitefully angry at anyone who had hurt me in the past, but now I lack the will to hold it against them. Maybe it’s a form of forgiveness, but I’m pretty sure it’s just resignation. They can’t hurt me even half as much I hurt myself.
I don’t know what that any of this means, nor do I have the will to figure it out. A while ago, that was my main mission; I wanted to get to know myself and figure out why I’m like this, but I find it hard to care now. I can’t pinpoint why I’m so sad, I just want it to stop. I don’t know where all of the sadness comes from, and I don’t know if it’ll ever stop. This shitty attempt at self-discovery was just an excuse to retreat from the world at large, and it’s gone on for a bit too long now, and it’s going to leave me unable to rejoin society in any meaningful way.
I wanted to belong somewhere and have a purpose. I wanted to learn how to get out of my own way so I could have a good life and help other people, but I’ve lost touch. I’ve gone so far away that I’m not sure how to come back. I’m giving up on my dreams one by one and there’s no relief in it. There’s no point in anything I do, and no logical conclusion apart from failure. It’s all for nothing.
It’s getting harder and harder to pretend this isn’t the case. There are only so many ways I can distract myself. I am far more deeply broken than I ever could have imagined, and there’s nothing to be done about it.
I’ll be fine, I think. Maybe I’m just tired. Either way, I feel different to when I started typing. Goodbye now.