I’m not okay.

I haven’t written in some time. So I thought I would try to put the fingers to the keyboard about how I’m feeling. The best phrase I can say is, “I’m not ok.” It encompasses a lot of things that are underneath the veneer of my outward appearance and demeanor. I hold back a lot of demons inside of me. Demons that say things that are ugly, mean, hurtful, and it plays on like a broken record in my mind. Now, if what I’m about to say is a “trigger” for you, please feel free to leave the page, if you need to. I understand completely.

Here goes nothing:

I am nothing. I am a waste of human skin and genes. I am a dead end. I am a failure. I am a disappointment. I am ugly. I am so stupid for letting my life go to shit like this. I hate myself. I do not want to live. I do not deserve to live. My life is a waste of such a great gift. I do not know why I was created. I do not deserve to be here. I am a lowly stupid janitor. I will never rise above being a janitor. My dreams are dead and turned to dust. My future is dismal and menial. I am not a good husband. I am a shitty friend. I am no good son. I do not deserve to be called human. I am a nothing. I am an empty shell trying to fake it at what life is. I am facsimile. I am a fake, a fraud, an asshole. I am not a good person to myself or to others. I am a failed experiment. I am nothing. I know nothing. I deserve nothing. I embody nothing.

Life is a great gift given to us here on this earth. I have squandered my time and my life. I should have died in the womb or never conceived. Why am I here? What purpose does this facsimile of life serve?

I may never find those answers.

People tell me I should change my prescriptions. I should change my dosage on my prescriptions. I could literally have my drug therapist give me every kind of drug there is to numb me. But what purpose does that serve? I already feel like automaton walking around, going through the motions, and trying to have whatever kind of life this is?

I could shout at the gods or ancestors for my troubles. But what purpose does that serve. They are beings on another level of existence than me. They don’t have time for my petty squabbles. I pray to them to take away this pain. But all I get is that I have to work through it myself. I have to take actions to help myself. They can’t do it for me. They can’t alleviate that which is created in my head. They can be there. But does that really help? I guess somewhat. But it isn’t answer.

I am the answer to my problems.

The solution to my woes starts with me. I have done everything you can possibly do for my mental health. I’ve gone to counseling. I am taking the medicines that are prescribed as directed. BUT the remainder resides with me. I have to walk this road. And sometimes, those feelings come creeping in and play like a record again and again. SO I have to recognize that and take time to care for myself. Even though, I may not want to or feel like I deserve that care. I have to work through my feelings. Sometimes that means I miss out on a game night. Sometimes I take a day off from work. Sometimes I just keep trudging on irregardless of my emotions.

I truly don’t know why. Call it human curiosity and a sliver of hope that bade me to go on for one more day and one more day after that. I don’t know if this blog is helping me or anybody else. But it is nice to get this shit off my chest somewhere.

I’m not ok. And yes, that is ok.

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