Why am I still alive.
That’s the question I find myself asking. How is it that I am still moving around when all my reasons for living are being taken from me? There’s no help and no way to make anything better and everything is my fault.
Every morning I wake up and my first thought is something like “This again.” For a moment I lie there, in pain but not wanting to get up yet, and I know that today, like every other day, everything I do will be wrong.
You, my imaginary reader, probably think I’m exaggerating. Surely not everything you do is wrong. Just random chance would suggest that you must do some things right. I’m not exaggerating. I don’t do everything wrong but some things a re more wrong than others.
For example. I almost never follow advice from my Mother because my instinct is that it wont help but every so often I think “well I’m wrong about everything else maybe I’m wrong about this and she’s right” and then I follow some of her advice. It never goes well. Following her advice is always measurably worse than following my own instincts but my own instincts are still wrong.
I keep thinking that eventually things will get so bad that I’ll snap and slit my throat or step out into traffic and then I wont be asking this question any more but things keep getting worse and I’m still here. And I think I’ve missed my chance. My life has got so bad that i can’t even improve things by dying. My death would just make things worse.
Now I sit and daydream and try to work out when I should have killed myself for the best outcome. Currently I’m thinking about 4 years ago.
Why am I still here? My continued existence is utterly pointless.