Stop trying to write like anyone is going to ever read this shit. Nobody cares this is just for you. So fucking sad. All the time. I just want to die. I shouldn’t want to die. I’m lucky. I have a lot. A lot more than most but I just don’t care.
I used to live for love. That was the point of existence. Now I feel alone. I want to be there for my kids. Why did I have them and subject them to this hell of life? It’s just misery. We’re all going to break down and die in some painful, unremarkable way. On the back 9, all I see now is loss. People will keep dying. On the front 9, I thought I was working to get somewhere like it mattered. It doesn’t matter. Nobody gives a shit. I’ll die and be gone and then forgotten. Poof. Dust. b. 1972 d. whenever and who the fuck cares.
Now I’m just working to leave something for my kids. Maybe they will be happy. Maybe I can delay their misery.
I feel like that stump in the Shell Silverstein book. Take take take gone. Dust.
I really fucked up when I was younger. Maybe I would feel better if I led a more remarkable life. I was not aggressive. I was scared. I’m still scared. I didn’t want to have a life driven by solely making money. I wanted a simpler life with meaning. But, I didn't find that meaning. I found that it doesn’t matter. You can put your heart and soul into something and who gives a shit. Nobody helps.
I should probably just sell this place. I don’t think I could bear handing it to someone else though. This place was my dream. I built something pretty remarkable but it doesn’t matter. I just wanted to be around people and be part of something good but it’s a constant struggle and no one is really helping. It’s mostly up to me. It’s just a job for the people that work here, more or less. I can’t even be here enough to see the happiness that it brings to people.
People don’t even come to meetings. They don’t contribute. They have nothing much to offer.
If I give it up though, what am I going to do? Walk the fucking dog? Then I won’t even have the dream of what could be. I’d like to give it to the kids. Maybe it will be a place for one of them. Maybe they will need it to be whole. Maybe it will give them a purpose. Maybe I shouldn’t burden them with any of it. Maybe it would just be pressure. I hope they each find something they are passionate and successful with. I hope they find good partners who love them and stick by them.
Why doesn’t she care anymore? Why doesn’t she help me?
I have nobody to talk to. I need help. I need to figure everything out. I miss my Dad. We used to have a lot to figure out together. His problems were my problems and I worked to solve them. We were working on thing together. Then the Ruiner came and blew it all up. It wasn’t perfect but it was ruined.
