F is the worst letter of the alphabet. F is bad. We learn at a very young age to avoid it at all costs. It is creeping up and is dangling over me. I feel it.
I can’t seem to please anyone in my life. If I can’t make anyone else happy, the idea of pleasing me becomes a foreign concept.
Lists, lists, lists… with nothing crossed off. I’m shutting down and not functioning. This is all rather boring. I turn to music to fill up my soul and clear the thoughts. I’m driving my car with the music loud. Angry at the world… Angry at myself…
There is not one thing that I am doing right. Maybe I’m setting myself up for disaster. Nightmares even haunt me while I break from the conscious. Writing this is admitting defeat and waving the white flag. It makes me more depressed.
Kittenpie once told me that I don’t write about personal information and she’s right because this is the direction that would lead me. I don’t want to come off sounding like oh woe is me. Plus I’m too incoherent because I’m too overwhelmed to go into detail. I think it is mind-numbing. Everything is wrong but nothing is wrong. I think I write this same post once a year.
I just want a break from the lists and have some focus on what I’m really supposed to be doing to be happy and content. That is so far off that I just cannot see it. Life shouldn’t be wasted under this heaviness.
I hang on tight, going in circles, feeling motion sickness from the ups and downs. The ride is too short. Is this all there is?