Futility

I am weary. I’ve been struggling with this for forty years. I gave it everything I had. I have nothing to show for my efforts.

Over these years I’ve had therapists and psychiatrists reassure me that this was treatable, that there would be a solution, all I had to do was be patient and work hard. What “this” was changed over the years – they kept giving it different names. But, whatever it was, there was a solution for it.

If something hasn’t been fixed after forty years of sustained efforts, then it probably isn’t going to be fixed. How long can I be expected to live on optimistic platitudes, bland reassurances that I’m making great progress? Hope and pleasant words can only get you so far.

Forty years, and I haven’t realized my dreams. These weren’t bold, arrogant dreams. I didn’t want fame, fortune, movie star dates. My dreams were more modest: a good woman who would stay by my side; a livelihood that paid me a living wage; stability. A few friends, a few cats, a few good times.

Well, I’ve got the friends and cats at least. But I need more. I don’t have it, haven’t had it, and don’t see that it is ever going to happen. I’ve lost hope.

When I awaken, I often feel tormented, a desperate wish that it was over, that I would die. During these few minutes as I awaken, I am at risk. If I had a gun or some quick way to kill myself, I’d probably wind up using it during these periods.

And this feeling is bleeding over into my waking life now. I can’t stand this. Sure, a mood disorder can make you feel miserable, even when life is good. But when life has been bad for decades, feeling bad doesn’t require a mood disorder. If your life sucks, you’d have to be crazy to feel good about it.

I’m feeling desperate, suicidal. I’ve made promises that I will keep; I’ll call, talk to people, maybe go into the hospital. This time. But there will be no more promises. This is bullshit. I’ve given this more than a fair trial, more than most people would ever have done. I’m just about done in.

But not tonight. I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

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