No longer as truthful as should be deserved, some names, places and events deliberately vague to protect identities that aren't mine

Tuesday, 5 May 2015

Living for the weekend

My old roommate came to stay.  We have a joke that we're not boyfriends.  I don't have any kind of romantic love for him.  He's not a soulmate.  But he's... a part of me?  ...a kindred spirit?
I realised how much I missed him.  How much I need him.  How much the little, quiet things he does became critical parts of my coping mechanisms.  He's so emotionally astute he acts before you even knew you needed him to. 

I remembered just how much of my support network I catastrophically lost within a matter of weeks.  How much everything fell apart at the same time.
I realized how I haven't managed to rebuild anything even resembling one facet of that structure.

I'm living for my escapes right now - a weekend off away from the world; the pain of getting beat up for sexual gratification; an afternoon where a fake world on a boardgame is the only version of reality; the heavy, struggling-to-breathe ache of a little too much hard liquor to 'celebrate' another week I've got through; a hockey game that feels as if I have an identity aside from the ones I absorb from other people.

I smile, I laugh, I experience the incomprehensible love my friends have for me. 
There are momentary brief incandescent flashes of blinding life.
But I still can't find a reason to fight, a reason to live for, something to strive towards. 

No one can say a word and give me that, I don't expect them too, it's not some misunderstanding that there's nothing good for me.  Bright burning moments just become anomalous data points in a generally declining lifeline. 

I still think about suicide daily.  I'm still trying to work out a plan that will succeed, that's viable, that's accessible.  Still just going through the motions until then for lack of anything else to do.  To keep occupied.  
If not I'd sit there, passively depressed.

I don't want to be passively depressed, I actively want to not be here constantly doing everything that is living. 

Even sleep.  Sleep is easier than most admittedly, but it's still something you do, and I'm seemingly more aware of my sleeping than most people, I notice the time pass while I sleep, and its something that takes effort, exertion, time, commitment, concentration.  Its less demanding, and importantly usually less taxing, than being awake, but it is still living.
And I am tired of living.

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