Desperation

I’ve never stuck to anything. It may be flakiness. Maybe nothing resonated. Maybe I’m scared to commit to anything at all. Change is safe. It’s an excuse. I’ve never really belonged to anything. Never seen the value of loyalty. Never seen loyalty rewarded, only leads to suffering. I expect betrayal so get out first. You can’t build a life by being transient, only destroy one. I’m always looking to BE something, never do something. Adventurer, writer, futurist. A title. Maybe I’m looking for status and I sneer at it because I don’t have it. I have no idea what my true motivations are. I don’t know what matters to me. I can blame my parents or upbringing but others have had same or worse. I don’t know who I am. I am looking for something in myself worth being. 

The only desires I know that drive me are desire. Desire for sex, desire for violent, desire for power. Desire to be feared. I want people to be scared of me. I want some sort of redemption for my destructiveness. I feel it would be best if I was locked away in a room and given clay to play with. Its the only thing that makes sense. I feel like an outsider always. Am I doing this? I have no habits except bad ones. Procrastinate because of fear. Read to be clever. Try get it all in one big swoop. I have no mettle. No strength of will. I have no solid reliability. My solution is always to abandon and switch direction when things are difficult. 

Am I abandoned? Did I learn this? Is this who I am? A flake? I get feedback that sticking to something failing is bad, so I think it’s wrong if there is failure. Am o supposed to stick to something to make it work? Is that accepting my lot? My mind has no focus because I have no focus. Everything in life feels like a distraction to me. Distraction from what? What do I want? Probably just to dream. I long to dream. I like dreaming and thinking of clever things to say. I like to dream. My whole life feels like the wrong place. Only My dreams matter to me. What good is a dreamer? I am hopeful that dreams can be more true in another form of life or death. I dream of death because I think I’ll be free. 

This life doesn’t matter to me because it doesn’t seem real to me. Some part of me knows it is though or I would feel no stress about it surely. I fear people being angry with me. I fear trouble. I fear everything I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything but my dreams and stories. The real world is fearful for me, so I dream of adventures and travel but that isn’t how life works. What I hope for isn’t what I live. It’s draining. Life drains me. Dreams fill me. I feel defeat because I can’t opt out. All my dreams are of opting out of life. 

When did this start? 

When did I want to opt out of life?

Is it childhood trauma? If so, how do I live? 

How do I get to want to live? 

How can I enjoy being alive? 

Dreams are an escape and I want to escape.

I feel like my whole life is suffering the consequences of other peoples actions. I dream of violence because I want others to suffer the consequences of my actions. I feel like my kind actions are detrimental to me and others selfish actions are also detrimental to me. I can’t ever send to rise above suffering consequences. I feel like none of it is my fault but I am enduring a life of fallout. I’m not convinced I will ever stop being a victim. I don’t know if I can ever control anything. Will I always be powerless in every situation? If my life is my fault, what did I do wrong? What am I doing wrong? If I have to be responsible for my situation, where did I go wrong? How deep in it am I? There’s no one to complain to. Do we get a lot in life? Is everyone’s life this fraught? And hard?

Am I seeking stillness so I can choose a direction? I have no direction. I feel like I’m just trying to keep up with the fall. I don’t think I will ever make progress, the best I can hope for is for things to go wrong more slowly.

Everything I do is a distraction. These are the facts. My father hates me. I quit the only thing I was good at because I couldn’t get paid and it meant I would have to live at home with my parents indefinitely. I didn’t choose independence but everything I’ve chosen has been an effort at independence but the truth is I hate being independent. I can’t do it. I’m not whatever enough. Not smart enough. Not valuable enough to be drawn into others success. Not good enough to be successful. I hate sales because it’s so hard to pretend to be friendly when I am just angry and sad. 

I’m pretending not to be desperate but I am. I have felt desperate my whole life. That is the defining aspect of my life. Desperation.