Declaration of Failure

by Captain Lonesome   Dec 14, 2018


This is how I feel all the time; I'm so unsure of everything, I can't trust myself to make right decisions, I'm so damn depressed and can't figure out where I'm going, what I'm doing, what the drive is behind my choices, or if I'm even in the right state of mind to be making these decisions that will, and are, affecting others. I fear any happiness for myself would be misbegotten, and is too far off to even see besides. I honestly do feel guilty, no matter the length, depth, and enormity of the lack of care, compassion, and companionship I increasingly face at home, I cannot honestly justify how I've been behaving. Seeking refuge in the escape of intoxication, seeking adoration in immoral flirtations, proving the harsh, raw truth, that the worst kind of deception is self deception. I am a vapid empty shell of my former self. All I have left inside of me is self dissatisfaction, disappointment, and regret. I feel no pity for myself, only disgust and shame. Though the depravity, and the absence and inadequacy of love I receive may be slightly unwarranted, it also, very well, may be due to my own inadequacy as a person; it has lead me to grow emptier and emptier, day by day, to become the lone resident of this intenal barren wasteland, void of love to give, drained of any emotional connection to bestow. My wedding band, once a symbol of a seemingly undying love, now feels like a burdensome shackle, binding any little bit of potential, no matter how minuscule it may be. My body and my confusing heart wage war against my mind and my writhing spirit. I grow weary of the onslaught of apathy, exhausted by redundantly falling, of being a failure, a frickin overbearing reject, over privileged and undeserving, just existing here in this well deserved misery and discontent. Perhaps it's best that I dwell alone, consumed by depression, engulfed in solitude.

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