I can’t do this… it’s a quote. It was better said by someone else and so when it is said the purpose is to convey that same expression. It isn’t something you could explain. There are words, of course. I could say despair but that feels empty now. Just like everything else. You can feel it though. It is the feeling that is conveyed. The breathlessness of it. The very effort of expelling the words is the thing in of itself. You can hear it, in the uncertain certainty of it. To admit that everything up to this point has now defeated you. Thus the words cannot be my own. They do not belong to me because I could not commit to them on my own terms. My expression of them would fall flat.

It is a kind of exhaustion. Giving into whatever it is that is left of what your mind wants you to do. To fight it, you have to tell yourself that it is all just a chemical imbalance. It is not a normal thought. It is wrong to give up. It’s fucking mad. Madness to think that it’s not normal. It is perfectly mundane and it is sad. I think that hurts people. People don’t want it to be true. So, there is this bizarre and unspoken conspiracy that it must be denied. But it is nothing more than that, upsetting.

If I were to die it would be sad. It would hurt people. I would be missed. People move on from sorrow and keep going until they can no longer. They can’t do this. You start to forget. Not actively, things just fade. We don’t have the capacity to keep it all. So, what then? Life is pointless and so too is death. The two things we can be sure of in this world are nothing but shadows. Citation needed. Then this, rumination is just a superfluous show of something to do. Distraction tactics.
Think hard about this as to not think about that.

Sleeping causes physical discomfort and staying awake is mental tribulation. I can’t break free of this. What would it mean if I could? To suddenly be okay with the ways of the world. Not okay, just getting on with it. That is all there is. Just getting on with it. Taking what you can from the small goodnesses that you gift to others and they to you in return. Recognise these things as enough. By what expectation should things be better.

I worry that it wont be long now. It is no longer just thoughts but a wanton impulse. I crave it. It is calling to me and I have to ignore it. It is wrong because there is more to this never ending story. Words all spoken better by someone else. My voice stolen and bereft of meaning.

I am stuck in letting it go. I’m not looking after myself. I could have cancer or diabetes. Or I am fine and the numbness in my leg is just something else. Could be both. I would be so lucky.

People see this. I want to scream with all my heart. I laugh instead. They know it hurts. They KNOW the hurt. It is theirs as much as it mine. And they can do nothing. They don’t know what to do. How could they when there is no answer to this awful stalemate I have sequestered myself away to. I am both detached and immediately present. I still want to help everyone, see the best for everyone. I want to help but refuse to help myself and I cannot adequately explain why.

If nothing else. Let it bleed. Allow it to hurt. And please in all your goodness forgive. Humanity can be so good… Hurt in grief but don’t suffer alone. That’s a quote.