Breaking

Sleep all night and wake up as tired as if I hadn’t slept at all. I’ve been doing this for a while now. It isn’t intentional or anything, and I don’t really know why it’s happening.

I did take a guess at it last night or the night before. I said, “Perhaps it’s just my physical body catching up to what my emotions and inner self have felt for a long time.”

In case you haven’t heard or figured it out yet, I’m tired of life. Life is a burden to me. Life is something that was thrust on my shoulders, and a weight I wish I could get out from under.

Most of today was spent mourning the fact that I didn’t win the lottery last night. As I’ve said before, I know it’s stupid to actually put any hope in that. Today I was wondering exactly why I do.

Although it would be nice to never have to work again, and to be able to have all the cool things I want and to be able to help out family and friends and maybe even some seemingly deserving strangers, I think that the main reason I hope to win the lottery is something else.

The odds of winning the jackpot are about 120,000,000 to one. Yet despite these odds, it’s something that I actually have the tiniest sliver of hope of winning. Most of the other things in my life that I have hoped for or put hope in have ended up either letting me down, or turning on me. Maybe it’s just nice to have something that I know for certain what the odds are.

It’s impossible to describe how dull and bland and dry and pointless and tasteless and futile and repetitious life seems to me. It’s impossible to describe how bad all of it fucks with my mind. It’s impossible to find any real relief or release.

I don’t wanna die.
I don’t want to live.
I wish this fucking mind-job would stop.
I wish I could stop all the pain and confusion and torment that exists inside me.
I wish I could cut deep enough to do the job.
Maybe get high enough to do the job.
Or cry enough to drown it all.

Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy.
There’s nothing new to do that hasn’t been done before.
All that’s been done before hasn’t really gotten anyone anywhere.
Nothing gets us anywhere.
We run around each day like billions of little scratches on the record of life, causing the needle to jump and skip and play the same things over.

I want so bad for a real way out.
The desire burns inside my chest like a bomb waiting to go off.
Then again, it never does.
I’m left holding the stillborn children of expectations and dreams.
Dead before they ever arrived.

Living is overrated.
Dying is overrated.
Sobriety is overrated.
Being fucked up is overrated.
Love is overrated.
Sex is overrated.
God is overrated.
Everything leaves you empty in the end.

You know, the Bible says that a broken and contrite heart God will not despise. I can’t say that I’m in the most broken position I’ve ever been in. I’m not in the emergency room or the psyche ward like I have been. Yet I wonder just how “broken and contrite” a person has to be to get his attention.

Then again, perhaps he’s either too busy or too non-existent. Or something.

“So impressed with all you do
Tried so hard to be like you
Flew too high and burnt the wing
Lost my faith in everything
*
Lick around divine debris
Taste the wealth of hate in me
Shredding skin succumb defeat
This machine is obsolete
*
Broken, bruised, forgotten, sore
Too fucked up to care any more
Poisoned to my rotten core
Too fucked up to care any more.”
*
Nine Inch Nails