Everyday I wake up, much like everyone wakes up.
Many people groan about having to go to work, some lucky few greet the day with a smile or some varying degree of jubilant position, some others hit the snooze button and procrastinate leaving the warm confines of bed for those last precious nine (or multiples thereof) minutes.
Everyday I wake up, I become displeased. Displeased because I didn't miraculously become a happy individual. Displeased that I didn't cease to exist and that this whole cyclical notion of going through the motions of a normal person hasn't ended. I don't want to eat breakfast. I don't want to look in the mirror at this sad pathetic humanoid looking back with hollow blue eyes. I don't recognize it and I don't like it.
It takes all of my mental strength to brush my teeth.
Can you imagine? It doesn't even make sense to me. Being physically and emotionally drained by the simple act of preparing for the day. I stare at the bottle of HappyBrain™ pills next to the sink and usually have a four or six minute internal debate about if it's even worth it to keep taking these apparent placebos.
Every single day I feel as though I'm wading into an unrelenting current. A torrent of melodramatic and extremely irrational disdain for living crashes ceaselessly against me in every step or action I take or attempt to take. There is no end to any of it. It is constant. It is infinite. It is sad. I am sad.
...I take that last bit back. I'm not sad. I'm emotionally numb, indifferent to everything. My brain won't shut off, it never shuts off, make it shut off. It's usually at this point that I find myself standing in the sun. Miraculously dressed and standing under the sky. It doesn't matter if it's overcast, raining, sunny, snowing. I take this moment to try and appreciate the beauty of the planet and life around me. Lately, nothing comes from this. I usually at this point ask God if he's still out there, if I could get sign from somewhere that this is worth enduring, a sign that would make this all worthwhile.
I stare at my wrists all the time. I never buckle my seatbelt. I play it fast and loose with gravity and I don't respect the gut feeling of fight or flight. This isn't meant to sound melodramatic, it does, but I wish it didn't. It's the truth. I promised myself I'd be vulnerable in these words and here I am. Them's the bricks, it's what I fight with.
Thousands of times a day I day dream about dying for something worthy. Giving this existence up to be remember in a harrowing act of heroism. Making something out of all this pain, something tangible, something real and lasting. I fabricate situations where I'd be caught in a gunfight with bankrobbers and I take a bullet for a little girl. I dream up scenarios that involve saving kittens from a fire.
I want to stop feeling like I can be replaced by the next guy to come along with some equally rugged good looks and a cynical (ie: humorous) disposition towards things. I am, I am replaceable though, through and through. I at least want to see that this disposable life I have means something. I want to have my cake an eat it to. One last act of kindness or selflessness and simultaneously put this struggle to an end.
I'm so tired, so very tired of swimming up these rapids. I guess I'll just keep hitting the proverbial snooze button until something changes or I finally break. I have to believe that the cosmos intends the former over the latter, there isn't another option.
(I continue to ramble, reek of melodrama, and become less coherent. I'm lonely, despite being surrounded by crowds of happy people.)
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