Things aren’t good. My attention is lacking, my hope is dwindling, and I find apathy and despair to be constant companions, if not exactly convenient. In terms of my physical health, this semester has been the most stressful and challenging. It’s hard having a disease that won’t kill you too quickly but that doctors can’t heal. It’s the type of disease you have to manage, which means every time he numbers are bad and there are more complications, it’s your fault. Once again, you’ve failed. If only you cared about yourself, your health, your future–if only you took these things seriously, you wouldn’t be so sick.
Well. Maybe I don’t want to care anymore. Or maybe I do and no one can understand, no one can listen. Maybe I’m just a problem that needs to be dealt with, taken care of, gotten rid of. Sometimes I wonder the use of really fighting for it all–you know, being healthy, holding on to any semblance of hope, believing that I’m actually here for something, that staying around is a good idea. I come home from stern doctors with low spirits, from pharmacists with empty pockets. And what all this for? I do my best with what I have and it is never enough. The numbers are still bad, or even worse. The medication costs more and more. I doubt I will ever be able to get a job that would allow me good health insurance to cover it all. I don’t even think I’ll be able to hold down a job at all.
I’m tired, really. I find myself on the ledge of tears, wishing to plunge forward. Of course, just when I go to jump, the pool is suddenly dry and I crash hard against the concrete–grey despair my only comfort. I sink into sleep, into apathy. I have no energy. I have no inspiration that I can get better. This doesn’t get better, because as it seems, all of this depends on me. It’s really a shame to put an entire life into the hands of someone who’s already a failure. I’ve never been a good enough daughter, never been a good enough student, never been a good enough athlete, friend, or companion. I could never be a good patient either, especially not one who’s supposed to take care of herself.
I have so much schoolwork I need to do or should be doing. I don’t care about it. I can’t care about it. I really only wish for the darkness. I wish for old friends to bring me comfort. I doubt I’ll feel better in the morning, even if I do manage to forget how today went. I wills till be stressed, still be scared. I’ll still be bitter. I’ll still be a walking failure, wandering through hours better off assigned to someone else, wondering why they haven’t been taking from me yet. I wish they were gone, all gone. I’ve never won anything but a greater dose of self-loathing with death alone as the prize. It’s October.
(but not believing it)