Struggling

That gray cloud of disconsolate¬†has turned an¬†ominous black. I’m not managing it. I’m not handling it. I’m not beating it. It has me wrapped inside its womb of bleakness in a way I’m not sure I will birth myself from this time…

I’m not even sure I want to.

I am struggling.

To be. Here.

I no longer lament over broken dreams and a shattered heart. Nor over the spilled milk of my childhood. Nor over the abuse. The shame. The cowardice. The pain. Of this life.

What’s the point of it?

I don’t walk in the graveyards of the past.

I don’t miss him.

Or her…

They don’t miss me.

I miss something I’ve never had. Someone I’ve never had. And each day grows darker with the never having known it.

This isn’t a mood. Swing.

Or depression.

Or psychosis.

Or sadness.

I am way beyond that.

This is despair.

True and desolate.

Mind numbing hopelessness.

I write of it here for fear that I may never write here again.

I have given up.

This life is just too hard.

And I’m really not that strong.

I thought I was.

Everyone thought I was.

But they were wrong.

And so was I.

Life just doesn’t make sense anymore.

Not any of it.

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