Working with myself

It feels like I'm at a critical juncture right now. There is a lot of inner conflict I am experiencing. It seems like I am at war with myself. The colossal inertia of all my terrible habits marches on like an unstoppable juggernaut with over a decade of force. I dig my feet into the ground and try to move in another direction. The force of my collective sporadic efforts pulls me in a different direction, trying to steer off the course of certain doom.

There no longer has to be any convincing or mental computation. I am clearly unhappy with the way things are and fighting with all my might to change, but this dark past compels me to work against myself. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but these are not the trials that lie on the way to glory. This is me actively fighting against my own self interests. A cruel fate fit for a shameless sinner. Every single day I live, my brain plays tricks on me. 

It tells me to do things that are wrong, it seems my one judgement is impaired. I feel fat, bloated, unhealthy, and ugly. I cannot bear to look at myself in the mirror. I hate the amount of time I spend sitting in the loo, and stuffing junk down my guzzler. The last thing I want to do, is eat. I want nothing more than to consume more of these poisonous substances that make me ache all over. I just want to lie in peace and feel comfortable. I want to sleep soundly and feel light. I don't want to fear rupturing my knee caps everytime I feel like running. Isn't it obvious how badly I want to live?

Yet, everytime I feel stressed, anytime I feel bored or distracted, in fact, every few hours throughout the day, my mind tells me to eat. When the internet goes offline, my body moves and I start playing a round. My mind tells me it's a good idea. Everytime I have difficulty sleeping, my mind tells me to rub one out. It says it is of no consequence. I know very well of the consequences, I can feel them now that I am sober. 

The weight, the stress, the anxiety. The loss, the guilt, the betrayal. After every meal, I feel like shit. Yesterday I had a very hard day because of work. I thought that I should blow off steam by having a few drinks and making merry. It was not merry at all. It was a blank in my memory. I remember all the events that occurred as if watching them through a TV screen. The rancid food. The cancerous junk. The shows that went through my sense into black abyss. The porn that actually came through and made me feel something. The addiction that followed. The loneliness after the high. The emptiness after the lies.

I felt it all today, as soon as I awoke from restless half-rest. An upset stomach and an unquenchable thirst. Everything I think I want to do, I find no joy in whatsoever. The game makes me feel like shit. The food makes me feel like garbage. The masterbation only fills me with longing and a deeper hunger than ever. It doesn't even feel good anymore. Nothing feels good anymore. I want to die. I would prefer to kill myself and put me out of my misery. I cannot go on like this.

Work isn't any better. Niether is working out. Fasting only leaves me hungry, and when I eat, there is zero satisfaction. I crave for hamburgers and buns, but when I eat them, I feel heavy and sick to my stomach. I want to sleep, but I cannot choose when to do it. I play my game feeling empty. I do my work feeling incompetent and unsure. Doubt and fears are taking hold of me. I want to run so far away that my reflection cannot catch up to me, a place where no one knows me or makes me think of something deeply dark and depressing.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I cannot even do that anymore. For the first time ever, I don't have anywhere to go. I don't think I can even run away anymore. I just want to lie down and let the vultures peck at me. I want to cry but nothing comes out. I want to reach my arms around a loving presence that accepts me completely and feel a warm embrace, but I find only air. I fear to latch on to my parents, because they are the worst of it all. They are the ones who will tell me with a straight face to eat right and exercise, when their cursed fucking sweets are what got me into this situation. They will tell me to save up without flinching, when they barely live from one paycheck to the next.

Those are not things that I can ignore, and I can't even muster up the damned courage to fight against them. I'm weak, flimsy, impulsive, out of control, and pathetic. I'm unreliable, and I;m starting to find myself unbearable. This is what a breaking point must feel like. I have been here a few times before already. But this time, for the first time, I don;t know what to do. I feel stuck. I feel alone. I feel unworthy of anything more than this despicable existence. What a joyless way to live. Is there nothing I can feel grateful for? Surely, there are many such things. But I would be lying if I said they matter right now.

It would be inatuthentic for me to claim that I feel multiple emotions right now. I do not. It would be dishonest to say that I have so much to be happy for. I can't. I have been 93 kilos for over a month now. I thought that with healthier eating and consistent working out, it would get better. I thought that if I keep writing and showing up, I will keep making progress. I can't do anything. I just want to breathe, but my guts won't let me. I just want to take a brisk walk in the light and at least delude myself into feeling like I'm not this person that I've become. I can't break through. I can't hang on. I feel like talking to a friend, but when I do, it's hellish and painful. I want to be alone, but when I try, I become restless and anxious.

How will I learn to work with myself? Will I never muster up the courage to stand up for myself? I was made to be weak by design. Pathtic to the core. Just yesterday I felt the joy that came with deciding to change my job. I looked forward with hope and light that I may join someplace better, more professional, where I can build myself up again. My instinct tells me to bear with it, but I don't know if I can trust it. 

Somewhere in my heart, I think there is still redemption, but I have been so wrong before, so many times. I'm afraid of dying. I'm afraid that after al this flailing about, I might fail anyway. I look at the ones that are doing things and I see the difference between us. It just seems irreconcilable. It all feels so impossible. Everything feels so hopeless. Is this what the end feels like? Alone, afraid, full of hurt and regret. Dying alone in a cold corner with no rhyme or reason. A pitiful death that no one thinks twice about. So many easily avoidable things that crashed into each other and led to meaningless disaster. It was to easy to avoid this, everyone just had to do what they knew they should have. I just had to do what I knew I should have. Even now, I feel empty. Too tired to even get angry at the unreliable internet connection. Too spent to care about what happens anymore. 

The work? It'll be damned. My body? It'll rot. The people? They can die. My dreams? My heart? My soul? What a joke. As if they were ever real in the first place. This must be what breaking feels like. I feel broken by my mediocre struggles. I am broken by the smallest of things. Oh mighty warriors of old, how far has your heritage fallen. The world has fallen into utter chaos, or was it nay different before in the first place? I'm no hero. I'm no warrior. Talk about setting up for failure. Talk about doomed from the beginning. All this for what?

That's how my life is like nowadays. May someone find this one day and remember. Remember what it's like to fight against yourself. Remmeber what it's like to lose. How can you faight against yourself, and lose twice? It makes no sense. My brain has already turned to mush. Rotten to the core. Nothing adds up anymore. How can I work with myself? There are no two sides. There are no multiple entities. There is just one flawed organism, the product and extension of the same fucked up environment. Hurting just as it hurts others. Suffering without any real means for salvation. All the self help books in the world didn't change my story. This reality, the environment, I.... I... I.. 

I don't know what to say, think, or feel anymore. I... don't think I can do anything about it. Is this the place all my siblings discovered? Has anyone been here before? Is there anyone like me out there at all? Is there any salvation for me in this life? Any hope of redemption? All the things I want to do, are not allowed. I want to break stuff, but it all costs money. I want to hurt things, but it all has reprecussions.

I want to become a burden on people, or annoy them. I want to scream loudly and hurt their feelings. I... This charade... I can't... It's too much. This this fucking lukewarm, fucking. Half boiled, on the fence, no-name existence... I , please, someone help me.... I ... I want to hurt someone ,no , I want to hurt myself. I don't want to work with myself, what a pathetic excuse for a living. I don't want to create this false meaningful suffering bullshit... What's the damn point? I I don't know what I don't know. 

I don't know what my dreams entail, I don't know what it's like to make a story or a comic, or t lead a team, or to make money... I... I feel like I'm spent. I don't know what to do.