Back in the office… I hate how it sounds and what it means, yet somehow it also has the added brightness that after all this is “me” time, that here personal situations stay at bay and can only take place the here and now… Thinking back on my so called vacation I only see all the reasons why I hate life. The cup half full: survival. The cup half empty: loneliness. There is no way I can change facts or actions or words, and as usual it all is my fault even if it’s not. The tracking beam that I have for troubles is starting to take a big toll on my tolerance and patience (patience, what patience?). I do not initiate things, but defending myself seems to biggest sin there is, and it puts me against all odds. I hate feeling alone, but seems that the fate of being the old lady surrounded by cats is inescapable. No man will ever share a life with me, because they either fear me or cannot keep up with me. My allure lies in places where mortals cannot see them. So I am deeply fucked in that matter. I think I have companions, but I only have good for nothings that don’t help at all… that I help even if I am drowning myself quietly. I have plenty of anger to spare, but what is the use of showing it… Do I really want to show? For what purpose? To receive the pity of the ignorants? To be branded insanely mad by the world? To be disdain as the outcast I have always been, even further?
I am beyond hope, beyond belief, beyond any kind of positive equation. There is absolutely nothing for me in this world, nothing. The only thing I thought I had left was but a mirage. And what is life if there is no one to trust, or share all you are? What is life… but a coffin that keeps you very still while it drags you through hell and beyond, until you finally rot and vanish in the dirt… What is life but the greatest joke that has been played on us… May Death hurry and grant its soothing release, I have nothing left to live for in this cursed place.
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