That which doesn't kill you... is simply killing you very slowly.
I don't know what I'm living for. I really don't. There's just no incentive in it. The last five years are all broken bones, infertility, getting laid off, having the jeep towed, incarcerated juveniles, psychotic breakdowns, failed initiative, scraping by, lethargy, food spilled on clothes... True joy is a thing of the past. I can scarcely remember it.
Adversity is supposed to make us stronger but the only life lesson I've learned is that God doesn't give any fucks. I really hope he's giving some fucks about someone. I mean truly. Someone out there had better be getting his attention because if he's abandoned all of us (which I guess is more likely) then he really is the uncaring bastard everyone says he is.
I know I'm supposed to find meaning in Kevin but if that's all there is, I'm not sure I'll make it. This must be what Silvia Plath felt. She had children and they weren't enough to make life tolerable to her either. If Kevin is my only reason to continue, then might I grow to resent him?
The best life had to offer is already behind. What can possibly be worth letting it beat me up for a few more decades until I finally develop whatever degenerative condition will kill me?
As I sit here the only reason I can find for not punching my ticket early is that it would be hardship for other people. But that's temporary, right? Won't time heal all wounds? I suppose I'll know when the next tragedy strikes because I still have some things left to lose.
Adversity is supposed to make you stronger but it's made me weak. It's made me bitter. And so very, very tired. It's aged me. But mostly it's made me weak. And tired. I collapse over every terrible thing now. I used to be strong but that was before.