Tired

I’m tired of being alive. I’m tired of being alone. I can’t stand the daily life I live anymore. The constant rituals and routines of avoiding pain and physical problems, as little as they might be compared to some people’s. I am a coward. I don’t want to face it anymore.

If I don’t dwell on the past, I feel nothing. No spark of life, no new day of hope. Just an endless cycle of trying to get through the day. Eyedrops, eyesprays, walks and supplements, exercise and eating. Watching endless tv, movies, and listening to audio programs.

I get dressed in the morning and I tell myself, “Who cares that I wear this or that?” because honestly, no one does. I don’t feel liberated or free, I just feel uncared about. I am the only one who sees me, besides the random people driving down the road when I go for a walk. What do they really care? Are they going to notice if my shirt or socks or shorts don’t match? Or if I dressed myself tidily or not?

My friends and family are not pestering me at all. Does that mean they don’t care? Or do they feel like there is nothing they can do? With a few exceptions, they don’t even try to initiate any sort of contact. Truly, the person who has spoken to me the most in the last two and a half months is a person who I only know from a 25+ year ago Bible Study.

For some reason he is now the person who is actually validating my personhood, even if he doesn’t know who I am anymore. He remembers this guy, the one from those days a long ago.

I don’t know that remembering those days is giving me a reason to want to continue to live in this world. It seems like a one way trip. My consciousness is now firmly embedded in the world of suffering from the loss of my wife. And my petty, but annoying health issues.

If I’m not crying, I’m not feeling anything. I guess I’ll continue to cry. Alone.