Wearing Thin

I seriously wish life didn’t have to be so complicated. I wish I could stop the voices in my head. I wish I could dam up the flood of thoughts that constantly barrage me and wear me down. I wish I could still believe in happy endings. I wish I could put words to all that I want to say, but somehow I can’t.

I used to be so sure of myself. I was sure, after a lifetime of getting burned, that living only for myself and never letting anyone close to me was the best way to be. I was positive that only caring about people at a superficial level was the safest way to live.

Things changed though, and I second-guessed myself.

It’s hard to explain what it does to you when every day you wake up wondering if today is the day that your worst fear will come true. The way it’s always the first thought of the day. The way it wears away all day long until you find out that “today isn’t the day.” The small relief that comes from escaping it for another day, but then wondering about tomorrow. The way that every laugh and smile is somehow overshadowed by the great “what if?”.

I wish I could know that the day will never come, but apparently that can’t be done. Or won’t be done. Or whatever.

But alas, now I have to figure out what I’ll do if that ever happens. Will I just suck it up and hope it never happens again? Very doubtful. Will I be mad and sad and hurt to the very core of me? Most likely. Will I find a way to move on? Also very doubtful.

I think I’m going to get myself a “What If?” kit. A bottle of whisky, a bottle of sleeping pills, and a gas can. No, not to light myself on fire. Gotta make sure the car has enough gas so it runs long enough in the garage so that if the whisky and pills don’t do their job that I don’t somehow make it.

I hate that it’s come to this, but I really can’t handle it if my whole world comes crashing down. I hate having to think about this all, but I can’t help it. The dreams have been coming back some. I feel sick when I think about it. If there wasn’t actually a chance that it could all happen, it wouldn’t be a problem. Apparently, that’s asking a bit too much.

If I knew that the day would never come when I’d actually have to face this, I could probably just blow all of this off and be happy again. But again, that’s hoping for too much.

I love all the memories and all the happy times. I don’t regret going against what I used to be so sure was the way to live. Not yet anyhow. But it’s impossible for me to know how long that will last.

Maybe I should just pull out the “What If?” kit and get out of here before I ever have to deal with it. I hate thinking about shit like this again, but how am I supposed to “move on” if the most important part of my life, the only one I really care about, gets taken from me?

I hate that now I spend 8-12 hours a day on the road for work, which gives me more than enough time to go over this all a thousand times in my head. No matter how loud I make the music, I can’t drown out the thoughts. Nothing can drown out the voices.

I hate it. I hate myself for not being able to stop it. I hate myself for not being enough. I hate myself for the things I can’t control.

I’m sorry that I’m not enough. I’m sorry that I ask too much. I’m sorry that I’m not worth it. I’m sorry for being weak. I’m sorry…

*
“I wanna be there when you call
I wanna catch you when you fall
I wanna be the one you need
I wanna be the one you breathe.”
*
Seether
Probably still asking too much…