February 7, 2018

These past two days I’ve been inside my head way too much. All I do is think and remember the stupid things I’ve said and done. The failures. The mistakes. The life I don’t have. The life I wasted.

This depression is back and it’s making me angry.

No, I didn’t go to Toastmasters meeting last night. I haven’t been outside — except for a few basic needs — for going on a month or so. While part of me knows I need to do something, like actually use the bow and arrow set I bought and go to archery and do things — that hate inside keeps me home.

My only activities have been building an enormous movie collection, school work and that project — by the way has been stagnant since there isn’t any money to move it forward as I’d like.

I’ve been hating my life. I feel it doesn’t belong to me. Even if the grades are good, I’m healthy and I have a roof over my head, I still … feel …empty. Like I feel like the stuff of my past doesn’t hold any weight to what I’m trying to do for the future; as a result, I feel like a fraud. Like anything I’m doing is going to fail because I’m faking everything.

Am I? Of course I’m faking wanting to be around people. So I don’t go out around people.

Do I fake caring about my kids when I see them? No. But I’m in this frame of feeling where they are bothersome. Like I’m some grandparent that welcomes them but glad to see them go. When did this feeling start happening? I hate that. I love my children. Fucking divorce. I would never have had children or gotten married if I knew I was going to be this worthless to them and myself.

Lately, these past two days, I just wish I would die and be done with this constant failure.