I drew these, one each day during a week many months ago.
What a difference I feel from just last week. The choir I think is too much for me right now, but when I think of taking leave, there is nothing else. I’m accepting I will not get another job better than what I have. I’m accepting having no close relationships and being stuck in all the ways I am. And when hope that better change would eventually come along dies the way it has, I don’t want to go on.
My birthday is a month away. 25 on the 25th, and I thought for sure I’d be dead before I saw the day. I guess it would make sense though, to never develop more to my life — I was probably never meant to be here long enough to see that. I should have gotten rid of myself years ago before there was a chance to fool myself into believing this life could be recovered.
I feel repulsive. The self-punishment is never all it should be. Sometimes -I’d say most times- when you’ve fallen far enough behind, it’s best to stop the waste of energy on trying and let go. And in that case it seems silly to even consider what a “goodbye” would do or mean to anyone else.
I stopped truly knowing what I wanted for my time here long ago.