What’s left? After all this, I’m too tired to type. An unquenchable sea of boredom, a desert of boredom. What’s left? I don’t care about almost anything. A salad sounds nice.
It’s an interesting sensation when the tiny little hope in the background of your life gets snuffed out. It’s the engine behind a lot of things. No, I don’t want to die, exactly… I just don’t want to do this any more. I feel like screaming at people, what does it matter now? Still the everyday with it’s jobs and expectations, and people buying groceries. Maybe I believed in something once. But I am not allowed to believe in it any more.
I had heard a metaphor, of lives being turned over like a mouse’s nest by a harvester. The ants on our kitchen counter. What does it matter.
And I’m so tired, I just can’t even tell you. I just don’t care any more. My body is just in my way. I have to ignore everything, because if I don’t… if I don’t.
I have to find a way out of this box. There is no me to be any more. I have ceased to exist.
