Late, late, always too late.

I always feel so caught between wanting to try and wanting to give in. I can’t stand giving up. I have never given up on anything without an overwhelming sense of regret and self-loathing afterward. I never, ever let myself live down anything I perceive as a failure. And there have been many. More than I would like to share, in fact. It’s difficult for me to look at my life and find anything I consider to be an achievement. It’s all bland accomplishments and dark, pathetic failures that I hate to think about but do anyway.

You can run ahead as far as you wish, but those things you would rather forget will always trail behind you. Eventually your pace will falter and there can be no other outcome than for those avoided things to catch up to you. I’ve avoided endlessly. I’ve ran away endlessly. And on nights like this, sitting in the dark, it all becomes clearer to me. I can be no more haunted than this; I can’t be any more consumed by all those past things than I am now. I want to bury it somehow, purge it, even. I find myself either hurting or eating and tonight it is the latter. 

Nothing feels good and I don’t understand. How can everything mean so little to me? Why does this food not satisfy? Why can I eat and eat and eat and never feel a sense of fullness? How is that possible?

I feel like that physical problem is nothing but a representation of my mental one. Nothing ever satisfies, nothing ever even slightly takes the edge off of this horrible, insatiable craving for some kind of stimulation. I barely glimpse even a fleeting sense of normalcy now; it has finally abandoned me. I am not to feel any relief. I am here only to suffer. Suffer or die seems to be my choices of black and white. For now I am trapped in this shade of grey.

Oh god, and how I want out of it. I’ll take any out to be free of this. I’ll take any out just to know what it is to not hate every second of this. I don’t know how it is possible to be alive and hurt so much. I feel so dead inside.

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One thought on “Late, late, always too late.

  1. imaginaryfears March 14, 2010 / 5:15 pm

    Sounds like it’s driving you as crazy as it’s been driving me. There aren’t even flashed of anger anymore. Just the flat deader than dead haze. It is horrible and seems like it should have it’s own name/category instead of bunching it with depression. I’d actually prefer feeling sorrow than this emptiness, you know? Not that giving a name would cure a thing, just saying…

    Sometimes I feel the good qualities some of us have can be the very things that make our lives harder. I beat myself up over mistakes and past failures all the time, but what if for once I embraced the mistakes and failures I’ve accumulated? And felt nothing for those like everything else now. Just something to think about. Sometimes I have the strongest urge to start over and erase all that I’ve done up to a point in my past where things still had a chance. To have that chance again. Like clipping the dead off a plant to see it grow healthier in the end. Too bad though. All we can do is try our best to see/feel the falls before we get too close to the edge, as blind as we all are in the end.

    Once again, not much help. Just thought you could use some company…

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