I come out here to cope with things… but there aren’t any words that make things much better. Like everyone, I have stress. I worry about the future. I reflect on my moods. My word vomit carries on into the vastness.
I guess I’m wondering when calamity will come. What will happen to this stilted world I reside in? Collapse of some form seems likely. Do I have the strength to emerge from the rubble?
What am I doing? Why am I walking this path? I have failed at everything I ever reached for, and I keep reaching; as if I can ensnare my goals with just the tips of my extended fingers.
I don’t think I’m a good man. I think I fucked up too much to be “good.” I’m an indentured penitent and bound to honor by shame. I have a wake of angry people behind me and a future designed to mitigate the impact of regret.
I now stand in a place in which I see the potential to absolutely destroy it by being an idiot. Ultimately, I’m hurt and too confounding to be worth loving. My words don’t mean shit once the world is on fire.
I’m hoping for a neurochemical reset. A sleep should help that. See my deterioration in this post? It’s been pretty clear.
Having someone again does tend to remind me of just how easy it has been to fuck it up in the past. Will I ever let someone love me without destroying them first?