All the paths that had been set out before me have been swept away in the wind. My heart aches at the thought of them and the futures they might have held. That's been my problem though, hoping on the future when it's never certain.
What else is there to live for though? I long for a purpose that will drive me to my grave, in a good way. Something that will keep me alive and keep me driven. I'm too young to think it's over. Not like there is a list of things that need be accomplished before death, but one must wish to accomplish something instead of forfeiting life.
It is cruel that the ones with no ambition or vision are given longevity and those who probably have hopes and the will power are snuffed out.
When I think about what I've accomplished thus far it doesn't bring me joy. It makes me feel like I'm lacking something.
So I finished a draft of my book and I don't know where to go from here. I feel like as though I'm delaying the inevitable. Procrastinating the end, putting it off while I do other things so I won't have to give up and say, "Okay, that's it, it's over."
Before I would use my weekly goals as a way to keep myself alive because I needed to break past the darkness in my life. I started taking medication, I started doing the things I had been putting off, I started attempting to be happy. But now, I feel as if it's all hollow. Not leading towards anything.
I'm brought back to the grand question for us all.
What's the point of it all?
I've recorded music; so what?
I've completed stories; so what?
I've loved; so what?
What does it matter? Does it even matter to me? Seeing as how my outlook is the barometer of these answers. Why should I keep trucking along?
It all comes back to things somehow ending badly. Relationships blowing up and plans getting erased or failing. I'm lost.
Even with the meds, I'm lost, watching the tide wither me away. That's probably why I wish I'd escape in my sleep. Turn off the lights upstairs and board up shop. As the cold of nothingness takes me.
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