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It’s a very sad feeling to have aspirations for yourself and knowing that you will never achieve them because well time is just running out. Some of the things that I want to do should have been done years ago. Typing that last sentence made my stomach turn. Im looking at the back of my hands and noticing the fine lines becoming more wrinkled, the progression of time taking me to that point where I will soon be at the end of my life. I look back and see the long days of my life and though I have had many adventures, what have I really done with myself and my life? I don’t have a real job, I don’t have a family, I don’t own my own home, I don’t have a car, I have nothing but the few meager possessions that I’ve accumulated.
I want to leave this world with people knowing my name. Knowing that I left my mark on it. For people to say “….he lived his life to the fullest” and actually mean it. Not just give lip service. However, its to late in the game to get most of the things I want to do done. And because of my disability I can not work, save money, and set goals. My bucket list reads more like a list of wide eyed fantasies dreamt up by a child. I feel so young, but in the same token I feel so old. Every day feels like months, which makes me both happy and sad.
I rather my life drag out (as long as Im not dying in a hospital bed) than to be over in a flash. My therapist asked me the other day “what is it that you want to do” and I could have honestly told her, but being honest with her wouldn’t do anything but make me feel worse about the fact that I probably will never do anything worth while. I spent my whole life in this Peter Pan state that while my mind and childish love for things has never grown, my body on the other hand has. I look at people who I went to school with, and their siblings and see that each of them have families and homes, and jobs, etc. and I think to myself, why was that never something that I wanted? Why was that something that I never strove for? I have always felt different, like I was important and that I was meant to do something special. But here I am, 32 soon to be 33, a depressed, horribly over weight, diabetic, slob who has nothing of value, and just plain nothing to offer anyone that could be of value or importance to someone.
I sleep to escape my life, and the limitations that are therein. But in doing so, I find that my days and nights slip away. I find it an increasing struggle to even get out of my bed. My body aches all the time from constantly laying in bed. My back has gotten to the point where I can barely stand or walk without it causing serious pain. I know its all part of my own doing and my own demise. For the last few years since July 20th 2008, I have questioned myself. Questioned why I fought so hard to stay alive and not just let go when I was in the hospital. Im not suicidal or anything at the moment. But when I was laying in that hospital bed, I was visited by something that wanted me to let go. It was there to take me where ever it is that we go when we die.
I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t sad, I wasn’t in pain, I was peaceful, coherent, and logical. I realize I didn’t come back because I didn’t want to die, I came back because of the people who were in my life at the time. I came back and fought for them.
Ive been told many times since my stint at the hospital that I have changed, and that Im more cruel and mean and angry. It could be true. But I know what I saw while I was in that twilight between life and death, and even the week following my release. I returned home, it was negative, heavy, and dirty. I saw sadness, and misery and pain everywhere. This is the first time I have written this out. Its hurting me to relive this. Its making it hard to continue to write. I honestly have lost the topic let alone the point that I was trying to make. What hidden sadness that I was trying to express. All that I do know is that I am going to stop before it gets much worse.
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