Thoughts of Cowardice

I’m a coward.. pure and simple. I hide away to avoid reality, to avoid confronting fears. I can seem aloof to people, at one time it could have appeared that I was egotistical, or hard.. and I suppose it’s the later that is what I wish was true. I wish I were hardened inside, I wish that I did not feel. So much safer and easier life would be if I did not feel as deeply as I do about things.

So when I am faced with pain that is much too great for me to bear, I hide. I retreat. I close all doors and windows. I close all lines of communication. For the blissfulness of being numb inside. It takes time, sometimes hours, sometimes days, sometimes weeks or months. But eventually, the numbness is just an every day feeling. It no longer is just something I struggle to be, it just is.

I suppose in a way it’s a form of emotional suicide. This pushing away any thoughts or feelings, hopes or dreams. I dare not dream, it is not safe. And before anyone gives me sacchine sweet platitudes.. realize it does not work for everyone. Not everyone is guaranteed a happy and fulfilling life. It matters not what some think of karma, for some people, reality is just barren and empty and cold.

That is my life. That is why I dare not hope. Self-fulfilling prophecies.. of course. But so much easier to handle in a day-to-day existence. When one dares to hope and is confronted in every single instance with the futility of it, when is one allowed to give up hope and not be looked down upon?

There are times I dare, times that I seek to leave the coldness that surrounds me. But when I do, again I am confronted with what reality is.

It is the angst of what I am that has kept me from writing. It is the bleakness that surrounds my daily life that gives me nothing to write of. I have never been one for surveys and jokes to write of, it’s just a way to fill pages, inane questions that serve no true purpose. That’s not what I think of in writing a diary. When I sit here, staring at my notepad, I write what I am feeling, or not.. whichever is the case at that moment.

But I see the futility of it, how I have even stopped reading those that I read daily. To see others live a life is like a starving homeless man or woman, standing outside an elegant restaurant, knowing they will never be able to afford to partake in a meal there.

That is what I see of life, those allowed the richness of a fulfilling life, while I stand on the sidelines perpetually. It hurts to see, hurts to watch, and eventually I must needs turn and walk away, to try to keep whatever bits of sanity I have left intact. It is the only way for me to continue this meaningless existence of working to pay rent and buy food for my cats and utilities to continue working.

That is the sum total of my life. That is all this meaningless journey has been. I have made no contributions of any value. I have merely taken up space that someone more worthy could have filled and done something remarkable with.

So.. my reason for writing this. This is my last entry. I want to thank you all for reading and caring, you have all given me wonderful gifts of time. It just hurts too much to watch others have a life I can never have of my own.

Be gentle with yourselves, always.