I am tired. So very tired. Even when I get enough sleep, which doesn’t often happen these days, I never wake up feeling rested. Most nights I fall asleep without issue but staying asleep is another story. I toss and turn and have vivid dreams and I cannot remember the last time I slept through the night. Even when I take something to help me sleep I wake up feeling like a truck ran over me. On top of this debilitating sadness gripping me at my core, I am so horribly fatigued. I function, I go through the motions, but barely. I know I look okay to the outside world but I am two separate people. The fake me, the one that puts on a mask just so I can survive, and the real me. The one who no longer cares about anything, life included. The one who is silently screaming. The me that is numb to everything, except the constant pain, the constant missing. That I feel intensely, constantly, with no reprieve. But joy, happiness, contentment I am numb to. I don’t feel pleasure or peace or enjoyment. I feel completely dead inside. Every day I still look forward to the time I can reasonably go to bed so I can finally (try to) sleep through it all.
I haven’t written in a while. Not because I don’t need to, or because I’m doing better (whatever that means, and I’m not). It just feels so pointless. It’s all doom and gloom and nothing’s changed and I just want out of this life. I survived Ariella’s birthday, survived the holidays. But so what? It’s not like I would get through those days and all would be okay. There is always another date, another milestone, another something ahead. There are triggers everywhere. Reminders everywhere (as if I could forget). She is everywhere. But she’s not here. Where I need her to be. And because of that nothing will be okay again. Destined for a life of sadness and pain and longing. People who have been down this road swear that happiness can be found again. I believe it. But I don’t believe there will ever be true, untainted happiness. Happiness not accompanied by pain. And the thought of that is dispiriting. I have a very bleak future ahead of me and I still fantasize about driving my car off the road. I would never do it but I understand suicide now. I never did before. I never thought things could be that bad. But I understand how someone can be in so much pain and feel so hopeless that they would want to end it all. When life has seemingly lost all meaning, what is the point in living? Especially knowing you are subject to a lifetime of pain and heartache. So this is where I am.