I was gonna say something to the effect of...
but then, why?
I look around my room at the possessions I have. I almost wish they'd been burned in the fire. I have nowhere to set my eyes that doesn't trigger my melancholy. But I guess even if I close my eyes, I still see things that upset me. It really only takes one simple thought. A word. And then images and stories result in my crying and wailing and wishing I could crawl into anything to escape this.
But when I am free from the pain, if I leave my mind blank or find some distraction for a spell, a creeping feeling of loss comes over me. Like, I've lost the only thing that means anything to me: my grief. Now, who am I? Post-caregiver, mechanic, suffering "sain't." Nobody. Nothing. Wanderer in my own bardo of grey, endless days and indistinguishable nights.
I'd rather be a defined sad-sack of misery than this nothingness that I feel taking over. Conscious emptiness. What a fucked up matrix for reality. I just need a better character to play. I'm sure not going to enjoy nirvana.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.