I’m really struggling.
I feel like I exist as a place for my dreams to die.
It’s the opposite of helpful for people to try and be encouraging and hopeful and say that one day, things will be better, one day I’ll get the things I need.
Oh really? Well, I’ve already put nearly 40 years into life and I don’t seem to be getting anything in return for the investment. I’m not sure where the evidence is that continued effort is going to pay off.
What’s been the point of all my effort to get healthy if I’m still stuck with nothing better than survival? Have I done all this work for the knowledge that I can live to suffer longer?
I did what I was supposed to do. I pulled my focus away from the future. Away from the anxiety it caused. I tried to focus on the present. But there’s no appreciable difference between the futures I feared and the present I exist in. I still can’t get anything more than enough to stay on my feet and keep walking, with no end to this state in sight.
Telling myself “some day I’ll be able to get the education I want” or “someday I’ll meet someone and end up in a loving relationship” or “someday I’ll get a job I enjoy at least a little” or “someday I’ll save up enough money to travel” feels useless as a reason to carry on. Just because it’s possible to win the lottery doesn’t mean it’s probable.
The more likely reality directly ahead of me is that I add physical health problems to my circumstances thanks to working in a grocery store.
What is the point of continued effort for continued net loss? How is knowledge that good things exist in the world supposed to help, when every effort to reach for those good things fails? Keeping myself around for random chance to throw something good my way is not a lot of motivation.
I know this is all bitterly melodramatic. I feel like it’s the kind of thing that makes people want to back away slowly because there’s nothing they can do but feel my pain vicariously and who wants to do that?
Don’t worry, I’m not likely to reach a crisis point. I still owe H $900 and I’d feel bad repaying his generosity with leaving him no way to get it back.
Hooray. That’s my life right now. Motivating myself to keep going because I have a loan to repay.
And this isn’t about romantic rejection specifically, even if that’s what sparked it. It’s the fact that yet another attempt to give myself a better existence failed, another dream went up in smoke. I can’t even achieve modest goals. I set my expectations for life low and can’t even get that high.