same old same

I get tired of each day feeling like the same old same. Like I'm running on a hamster wheel, trapped, and I don't know how to get out. And it doesn't matter how hard I run. I end up in the same place.

Still moving forward and getting nowhere. Still doing the same things over and over.

I am healing, I know. But it's hard to wake up every day and know that I'm still not there. And it's hard not to think, maybe I'll never be there. And if I'm never going to get there, maybe it's not worth even trying. Not worth getting up each day. Not worth walking this same sad loop around the neighborhood—and I know, I should, I should be grateful. Not even a couple months ago, this walk was much more painful. I remember that burn in my abdomen, the tug in my inner thigh, as if I was pulling and grinding the gears of my existence, the soreness at the back of my butt. And crying, thinking why the hell can't I even walk a fucking half mile without pain? And why do I keep forcing myself forward, every fucking day, when there's no end in sight?

I'm not good at being positive to begin with. And I'm worse at staying positive. So even as I tell myself, "Oh, you're sooo much better, try to think about that", I'm actually thinking, "This is month 10 and I'm still not healed and this sucks." And I feel like a rat in a cage. Except the cage is me and the rat is me and how do I escape that? How do we escape ourselves?

I wonder, sometimes, if it'd be better if I just disappeared. I'm not happy, I haven't been happy in a long time, and though I thought I could get there one day, that thought has been harder and harder to believe these days. I thought I was closer last year, I thought I was finally making my way out of these tired, worn thoughts of mine, finally getting closer to finding some kind of joy in this tired, repetitive life, but it must have been a fragile feeling. Because now that my physical health isn't at 100 I've lost it. I'm back to the beginning. I don't know how to find it again. I feel so trapped. So tired.

So sick of myself.

I wonder, what is there worth living for? When each day is another copy of the one before. And the one before I see myself walking this same tired path. Circles on circles on circles. Literally and not, listening to songs on loop, walking in a circle, my footsteps leaving no trace on the same gray sidewalk. Listening to voices on podcasts as they eloquently describe how our world's going to shit, but feeling so far away from it all, listening to voices in my head tell me that I am alone and I am also useless and I have nothing to be proud of, nothing to make me matter, to myself or anyone. Which doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, just like it doesn't matter if I'm here at all.

All I do is consume. Watch my mindless sheeple shows, hoping they'll make me feel something but mostly feeling empty and gray, eat my food until my stomach hurts, just to throw it up again. So used to it now that it barely hurts. It's just another nothing piece of my life. Me wasting food, energy, consuming things that should go to someone much more deserving.

I don't know. Today is another day that passes. I don't know if I should be here anymore, consuming these days with my empty, hungry mind; my empty, hungry stomach. Becoming more parasite than person. Clinging on to scraps of satisfaction, attention, affection, as if these can fill my days with something more than gray.

I don't know why I keep going. But still I do. Still...