There is no rest for the wicked.
Sleep has ceased to become an escape. Dreams come with the nagging sober knowledge that they remain unfulfilled wishes and that waking is no reprieve, merely an escape from one prison to another. At some point somewhere, everything spiralled down into this horrible mess of a life. For almost a year now have I lain down in the mud, like the slob that I am, stuck in my lamentations, my regrets, my escape when I should have stood up and faced the dreaded climb out of this pit. I have become a pathetic has-been, a pitiful loser in the race, largely because I cannot suck it up and get over myself and the weight of the many frustrations that I bear.
Over the past four years that I've carried this burden, I can hardly say that this is new. But the truth of the matter is this: this is the lowest of all my lows and I am at a loss. I am incapable of saving myself. I have lost the ability to hope. Visions of a better future have escaped me. All this because of a past that stretches out to this present; a past that threatens to devour even my future. How I wish I would just grit my teeth and finally start trudging forward along the road where many others have left me behind. To abandon, or make dormant a strength which has availed me all these years: my foresight - my ability to perceive possible outcomes in a web of choice and circumstance. In the past this has allowed to make wise decisions yet now it breeds despair for my sight is clouded and my surroundings dark.
In the face of this darkness, I must find my light.
Sleep has ceased to become an escape. Dreams come with the nagging sober knowledge that they remain unfulfilled wishes and that waking is no reprieve, merely an escape from one prison to another. At some point somewhere, everything spiralled down into this horrible mess of a life. For almost a year now have I lain down in the mud, like the slob that I am, stuck in my lamentations, my regrets, my escape when I should have stood up and faced the dreaded climb out of this pit. I have become a pathetic has-been, a pitiful loser in the race, largely because I cannot suck it up and get over myself and the weight of the many frustrations that I bear.
Over the past four years that I've carried this burden, I can hardly say that this is new. But the truth of the matter is this: this is the lowest of all my lows and I am at a loss. I am incapable of saving myself. I have lost the ability to hope. Visions of a better future have escaped me. All this because of a past that stretches out to this present; a past that threatens to devour even my future. How I wish I would just grit my teeth and finally start trudging forward along the road where many others have left me behind. To abandon, or make dormant a strength which has availed me all these years: my foresight - my ability to perceive possible outcomes in a web of choice and circumstance. In the past this has allowed to make wise decisions yet now it breeds despair for my sight is clouded and my surroundings dark.
In the face of this darkness, I must find my light.
