The Joy of Giving Up

         My insurance is still being held up. People are supposedly looking into it, but they said that all last week, and the week before. I was told on Friday that things had been fixed but they are not. No one I talked to has been any help, even though this isn’t something that just happened. Someone did something, or didn’t do something, and it seems like it shouldn’t be that difficult to find out where the mistake was made. I am paralyzed with rage. 

        This whole thing is a good reminder that you can do everything right and still have your life derailed. The healthy thing to do is laugh it off, realize you’re not special or unique or immune to poor luck, and keep on going. Chin up. Hang in there, baby. Keep calm and carry on. But if you’re prone to depression or pessimism, it’s easy to think, well why even try, if it’s all going to go to shit anyways. Cynicism is easy. Hope is hard. 

        I struggle with this. I have little hope, little belief that things will work out the way I want them to. Part of this is based on realty –for the most part, things have not worked out great for me- but part of it is obviously my shitty attitude. I don’t like this defeatist quality in myself and recognize that it makes things more difficult, but my attempts to change have been only marginally successful. Sure I’m less selfish than I used to be, I value life more, I would say I’m a much better person than I was ten years ago. But who fucking cares. It’s too late, the damage is done, and I am left here to stew, with few resources and no energy to haul myself out of this fetid broth. 

        If it sounds like I want to die, it’s because I do. I won’t act on it, because I would hurt too many people and realistically I’m too scared to go through with it. I’ve been through all that before –maybe that’s where I used up all my luck, not getting killed by that bottle of pills. But I don’t want to live like this anymore. It’s too much. I literally can’t take it. After a brief moment of hope that things were back on track, I can feel my brain once again shutting down. I’m unable to relax or distract myself. I spend hours lying on the bed staring out the window, unable to move, wishing it was over. 

I’ve been out of treatment for a week. All the good that was being done by the chamber is unraveling. My feet are both as fucked up as ever. I fear that surgery is going to be inevitable after all. All because some asshole somewhere fucked something up. I wish I knew who it was. I would like to claw into their stomach and tear out their pancreas and eat it raw.