This is my third attempt at a sentence. I don’t know how not to edit myself. Shame permeates every part of my being and I’m so exhausted from it. I view every decision I’ve ever made as a mistake and spend an inordinate amount of time every day building up the case against myself, the case for Shame.
Lately, all my fuck ups feel like they’re taunting me. It doesn’t help that, in the past couple years, my grave errors have become more abundant. I think I used to keep myself on a tighter leash, or, at the very least, used to be so busy trying to stay fed and housed and alive that I didn’t have as much energy to focus on the utter shame I feel for being fucking alive.
I have no idea how to relax. If I have something to do on a certain day, I just wish I could stay in a dark room all day watching NCIS. If I have nothing to do a certain day, I spend all day trying to silence the inner dialogue of, “I want to die.” I can’t fucking win, and I’m not even fighting anything. There’s nothing trying to fight me. It’s in my fucking head. I’m pulling one end of a rope to try and “win”, but all I’m doing is falling back further and further and further.
Nothing I do is okay. Nothing I don’t do is okay. I’m fighting against shit just because I think I need to be. I think I deserve to suffer. I tell myself that life is suffering, and use this to fuel my anger at being alive, but the sad truth is that I think life is full of so much meaning and beauty but I just don’t deserve any of that. It’s easier to be angry, to close my heart, to always find something wrong. I’m terrified to open my tightly clenched fist and try to feel any of the beauty that I see around me.
At some point, this tug of war against invisible forces must stop. At some point, I must stop fighting.
I'm tired, let's wash away 