I think I’ve reached the point once again that I am thoroughly sick of my life. I’m trying to reach 34, but it seems so long away. I think of the end of my life right now, but I think of things that I want to do before I leave. It’s a contradiction. Which is closer to real? Neither. Leaving is closer to real in respect to attachment to being here, but “leaving” is already an attachment. These are the contradictory paradigms that comprise my life.
No one gets me. I had a talk with Josefa this past week which made it clear that no one gets me; she certainly doesn’t. She couldn’t emphasize more that I am different. I’m incomprehensible. And it makes it hard for the people around me. And she’s right.
I’m taking a few days off for vacation. I’m heading down to Southern California for the first time and I’m visiting Rosalie, taking in some sites – Joshua Tree, Kings Canyon, Sequoia National Park, maybe Manzanar, maybe Yosemite. I doubt I’ll hit them all.
I’m filled with anxiety about this trip. I don’t know why, I just have been on edge all day because of this trip. I hate my life, I hate living it, I hate being here, I hate existing. I don’t know how I’m going to survive. But why am I distressed? Why do I care? Why can’t I break through? This is so maddening and I’m so confused. I want to leave but...I’m not.
