Irredeemable

I’m paring things down. I don’t want many friends. I don’t want to socialize. I don’t have the energy to love anyone. Food tastes like nothing. I don’t look forward to anything. I just want to withdraw from the world.

I want to get rid of stuff. I want to live in a place with simple things: clean water, lots of sunlight.

No phone. No Internet. Just a laptop and a bunch of DVDs to watch at night. No other people. Not ever again. Self-imposed isolation for the rest of my life.

I’m so broken. Physically, yes. Does anyone understand what it feels like to be trapped in a body that isn’t weak enough to die but not strong enough to live? I merely exist. Mostly in pain. Most of the time.

I don’t get to forget things the way others do. Every memory comes with intensity of feeling and loss of safety I felt in the moment. All the early memories are like this. My first ones are all of danger. All I knew were rushes of adrenaline and a cry that got stuck in my throat. How could a life begun that way lead to anything but the perpetuation of damage and terror?

Every night I pray for mercy. Mercy on my victims. Mercy on my friends. Mercy on me. Swift death without more suffering. Swift death sooner than later. I don’t want to keep living. I’ve played my role. Stop it now. You don’t need me. And, really, what good could I possibly do now at this late date? Haven’t I shown abundantly clearly that nothing good comes from me?

I don’t have anything to contribute. And I’m so tired. All I can do at this point is spread the hurt. Contain me, excise me, eradicate any trace of my existence here. But set me free.

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