It’s just getting harder and harder. I’m trying to keep light about it, but the feelings creep up and overwhelm. Then I think that it’s alright, I want my life over anyway, so just lighten up and feel good about these feelings that are leading to my inevitable demise. But the feelings themselves are hard in each moment.
I find myself questioning my motives. Why do I want to go to therapy? If I want to leave, just leave. If I want to get better and live, face up to it. I tell myself I want more information; I’ll leave but I want to know what a professional thinks of my situation; I want validation. Isn’t that a crock, a load of crap?
Everyday is hard, that is the character of my life as it is. It is hard just to be here, to exist, to live in this skin, to feel, to have sensation, to see with declining eyesight, to hear with deteriorating hearing, to know and think with a deteriorating mind and grasp on existence and reality. To be cognizant when I can’t believe any of this is true and real.
