I went to the beach today and read a book then all I wanted to do was to bury my face into my pillow, once I get into bed I don't really cry though it's just blank out like anesthesia.
I started this day as Happy, I ended it as miserable deciding that my grief of not having a family, a tribe, a place, a home, a belonging, belonging to someone. A stuckness. The "quiet desperation or silent desperation" or what ever that phrase is.
I see why I stayed in my own world I was safe there, my quietness, much safer. Safety in aloneness. Alone is a safe and unkind place.
Some times I really do just feel like garbage. On the beach I finally was picturing all my red blood running out into the water.
I picture myself dissapearing and I see how the world is the same without me. So I don't know what am I doing here, "what is the point", I ask that of myself.
I'm not going to kill myself just expressing the feeling and my thoughts, I do think about it.
It would be a way out. I wonder if the suffering is worth living for. If suffering has its own value it is a stupid thought, but I have to find meaning in stupid things somedays.
I'm ok, if I go to sleep I will wake up and feel different tomorrow.
I feel like I'm stupid for being hopeful, because in my heart I know the truth is disappointment. That is what my life is about.
I read what I wrote above it sounds so down.
I'm running out of life, days for living, thinking that I can change me. I don't change, I haven't changed for the past ten years, instead I'm just getting older, older, older, life going into the gutter and away and its gone. And my grief is there under it all.
I need to just gather myself together possibly. Lay down turn the lights off and then get up later.
Men they take and don't give back.
Life itself takes and doesn't give back...that is the time...it is loss...
This isn't making any sense cause I'm too tired and upset that I can't think or make my fingers want to type.
Try again later.
