How do you function when you forget who you are? I am not speaking of forgetting your name or where you grew up. I mean truly at the core of you forget. I am so lost that I don’t recognize this thing that I see staring back at me; this piece of meat luggage and amass of thoughts that I lug around weighing me so far down that I cannot see the sky. I thought for half a second that I am still me, but I find this stranger finding me wherever I go.
I thought that this was just because of the passing of my beloved long time companion Remi. My beautiful cat that just couldn’t hang on any longer. I promised her a better life. I wanted us to have our own home where she was free to roam and sun herself in a window to yawn and purr and wonder at the world. She was just so old and at the end of it too sick to want to even try anymore. I hated myself for not having the money to truly give her that or even to take her to the vet when I knew that I should have. I just wanted to be with her a bit longer, for her to remember always that I loved her and she was at the center of everything especially my heart. I feel broken now like I have been swallowed and devoured with barely salvageable parts to reassemble to wholeness.
I didn’t think that it was possible to feel more like a worthless schlub, but somehow I have. I am unemployed and seemingly unhireable no matter what my mother says. I have lost that fire I once had to be anything. Where did my passion go and when did it leave me? I wanted something. I suppose that at some point I became tired of fighting and had to make a choice. I thought that choice was right, but here I am alone, jobless and penniless without so much as a want. That isn’t true. I want to not be put out. I want to be able to live in my own place. I want to be loved and appreciated. I want to be able to connect with people and have them genuinely care about me and not feel like a burden to the ones that love me and who I call friend. I just don’t feel anything but lost and empty.
Maybe I am just ranting. I am tired and see no signs of actually being able to sleep. What is the use? I will just be up tomorrow wandering around the house trying to find a purpose. I don’t want to go to pool league. I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to turn my phone on. I don’t want to listen to all the crap going on in my head. That voice in my head is really annoying, but I feel like I am gagged and tied to a chair so I cannot fight it. Is there fight in me? I cannot hear my hope very well anymore. I abhor feeling weak and useless.
I am without purpose. I am a random atom. Where and what do I serve? Where is my light? Where is my sunshine on a cloudy day? I suppose that if I keep looking and shuffling around in the dark I won’t find it.
I should stop crying and just lay my head down. Wish for something to spark the fire that was dampened within me. I suppose that if a wish lingers there is still hope, huh. Who knows? I don’t want to think of the alternative. It is constantly breathed into my ear by my own self loathing. I don’t want this feeling inside of me. I don’t want it’s beckoning howl. I cannot conceive of no longer being, though I feel that way now. I still breathe and cry and wander my halls. I still scan the internet for hope of employment. Then, without fail, in comes the shoveling; the sound of defeat and I cave.
When I was a child, I thought that I would be something by 40. Hell, I thought that I would be something well before that. Yet, here I lay. What can I truly say at the end of the day? I tried. I thought that I was doing the right thing. I thought somehow I would have something to say for myself and to call my own. At least, I thought that I would be employed at this point in my life. I would not have to borrow money from my mother who is on disability from the government for 30 years. Reaching burden status in all facets of my life has left me impotent in all ways. What is the point of feeling good when I don’t feel good? I cannot see any correlation. I have a problem enjoying myself with financial and spiritual turmoil.
Lying here, I fear that I won’t get up one day. I will just give out. I won’t find a reason to get out of bed even if it is just to pee. I will admit, that I really don’t care some days. I do care about not peeing in my bed; ran out of laundry detergent. Also, that would be another reason to cease. Who wants a 40-year-old that wets the bed even if it is a reaction to stress? NO ONE!