Two (three, as it is dead of night of January 3, damn the passage of time) days into the year. 3 days in, and at the end of my tether.
I'm lucky (?) to have family, because if I didn't I'd be long gone. Even my dearest friend, my kittycat tethers me here, forces me to hold on.
In life, we expect to be something, to do something, to accomplish something. Be damned if I think I have, at my age. Fucking haven't.
I know in the scheme of things, I'm the tiniest of tiny cogs. I guess all of us imagine we were so much more important than that.
But when you're struggling, day by day, penny by penny, to hang on, it's so fucking hard, and you cling to any imagined importance.
And your imagined importance only infringes on others, drags them into your failures and makes them part of your incompetence.
But how long can you rely on others before you stand and fall on your own?
There comes a time when you have to walk away from the help of those you love, because your neediness hurts them.
They might be better, happier, more serene, if they did not have to worry about you.
And you might rest easier in whatever beyond there may be, if you knew that they were free of your drama/trauma/radiating pain.
They might remember you with sad smiles, but the specter of your incompetent pain would be a shadow, a memory, painless in its distance.
The choice is like a blinding light in your eyes, ignore-able, insistent, ever-present, never-ending.