My shoulder hurts bad. I feel it pinch with every pull up I do. Do I care? No. I seemed to stop caring about myself completely. I don’t care if I sleep. I don’t care if I eat. I don’t care if I break apart every relationship that I have. Why would I care about a stupid shoulder. As much as my mind has sunken, I still train and I still write. If I didn’t at least do this much right now I’d probably be dead already. Patience is gone, I have none left. I only have an urge to be something other than myself. Somewhere other than where I am. It sucks that I know thinking like that does nothing good for me. I know it and yet I can’t stop thinking it. The days only pass slower and slower, but the weeks pass like hours. My sense of time and sense of self is distorted. My ability to see what I want is absent. Spend most of my days questioning why me. Why did I do this to myself. Spend most of my nights reminding myself of everything that’s going bad. I don’t even try to shut the voice up anymore. I listen to what it says. Ohh well, another day of training I got to do.
As much as my mind has sunken, I still train, and I still write. If I didn’t at least do this much right now, I’d probably be dead already. These two things—training and writing—are the threads holding me together. Even when my body aches and my mind screams at me to stop, I move forward because stopping isn’t an option. Stopping would mean giving in completely, and I can’t let that happen.
Patience is gone; I have none left. I only have an urge to be something other than myself. Somewhere other than where I am. It sucks that I know thinking like that does nothing good for me. I know it, and yet I can’t stop thinking it. The days pass slower and slower, but the weeks pass like hours. My sense of time and my sense of self are distorted. I can’t even see what I want anymore. It’s like my goals have been buried under the weight of everything I’ve piled onto myself.
I spend most of my days questioning, Why me? Why did I do this to myself? Why did I put myself here? Why couldn’t I have made different choices, taken different paths? Then I spend most of my nights reminding myself of everything that’s going wrong. The voice in my head doesn’t shut up anymore. I don’t even try to silence it. I let it speak because I don’t have the energy to fight it.
There’s a strange comfort in listening to it, though. It’s not encouraging, but it’s familiar. It tells me things I already know, things I’ve accepted as truths. You’re broken. You’re stuck. You’ve ruined everything. I listen, not because I believe it entirely, but because it’s the only voice I hear in the silence of my nights.
Even with all this weighing on me, I still have to train. I still have to write. There’s no negotiation about it. These are the only things that make sense to me now. They don’t fix anything, but they give me something to do. Something to focus on when everything else feels meaningless.
Maybe that’s enough for now. Maybe just getting through another day is the win. Not a win I can celebrate or take pride in, but a win nonetheless.
