There are days when I wonder if any of this is real. Did I really come out at 47? And fail? Did I leave my unconditionally loving, loyal, family – the only true family I have – for a woman I thought loved me as much as I loved her? Did I fall in love only to have my heart broken and end up alone? Did all of this really happen? Did my soul really chose this obscenely painful path? And if so, why? What was the point? What is the lesson I am supposed to learn? What is the purpose to all of this hurting that never seems to go away?
I don’t understand any of it. And I can’t do this anymore.
Have the last 12 years been some cruel, cosmic joke? A nightmare from which I will never wake? And if I wake, will you kiss my tears, chase away my fears, still my pounding heart, and tell me it’s all going to be okay? Or am I meant to live with this endless torment? Until I have lost all faith in love. In loving. In being loved. And stop believing that when you truly believe in a dream, anything is possible.
This life began hard. Abandoned and alone. Love even then, elusive.
I pray that’s not how it ends.
But I feel hope, slipping away.
The dream, fading into the nothingness.
If this is real. If this is my life now. If this is all that is left. I give up.
If all I’ve managed to accomplish with all my efforts… the bigness of my love, the daring of my dreams, my endless optimism, my forgiveness of those who have neglected and abandoned and beaten and abused me, my true spiritual beliefs, and my unwavering faith in the Universe…is to be here alone and living inside the hurting that echoes endlessly in the emptiness that fills my mind, body and soul…if this is truly it….then I give up.
And I will gladly lay down and end. For I can not do this anymore.
I wish for no more fighting for survival. I am exhausted. I wish for no more wanting a love I can not have. I never deserved to be this broken. I wish for the ability to stop dreaming. It’s cruel and unkind. I wish for no more wishing of anything. What’s the use? I have failed. I see it now. My love did not conquer all. So, I concede defeat. Wounded, limping and bathed in my own blood, I will fade into the shadows of regret and pray for the gift of forgetfulness.
My melancholy is deep today. Feeling fragmented. Memories haunt me. Words unspoken. My voice silenced by diminished need. My love empty now of its purpose. My heart simply beats so that I can take another breath. Even when I don’t want to.
There doesn’t seem to be a point to any of it anymore. I’m walking through this life without a reason to live it. I don’t understand why or when this happened, but it has. And I am so sad that it has.
I can’t do this anymore.
I give up. You win. Whoever you are.
I am so very, very tired.
And so very, very done.