things were better, and then they were worse. are worse. i’m waiting for the blessing of death. i’ve contemplated ways of killing myself, but i know i’ll never try it again. i’m just letting life take its toll, and hoping it will either end or get better, permanently. either way, permanently.

i exist in this space where anything can be taken from me at any time. stability has no home here, and in the blink of an eye i can be similarly homeless. i don’t have hope, other than the hope that this is the worst it will get. i don’t want to be here. i really don’t want to be here. on this planet, in this time. i want to not exist.

i feel like i’m being strung along, like i’m being kept alive for the purposes of dragging out some torturous experiment. give me just enough to survive, but not enough to thrive. i just want it to be over. i don’t see a point to living, but i go through the motions because i know if i don’t, things will get worse. and i know i’m not lucky enough to just die.

how is it that i’m this old and i’m in this position? what happened to all that promise? i don’t even have a degree, i have no way of proving my intelligence that anyone will accept, and i have no marketable skills. at least nothing that i’m good enough at to trump the lack of degree or experience. whatever. i feel like i’m still 17.

this is pointless. writing about this is pointless. i wish i had the courage to just kill myself.


(written june 23 2015)