Existence is Futile

God dammit, I ruined yet another potential friendship. I guess I have an issue of coming off needy and desperate. See, I have all of two people that I consider real friends. One lives 2000 miles away and the other is basically a hermit.

Maybe it’s the anxiety. I feel the need to impress, and the pressure to do that makes me somewhat intense. Maybe I’m just incapable of making new friends. Right now, maybe I’m just in my own head too much. 

Since January when I was diagnosed, I actually feel like I’ve gotten worse. Cycling through the emotions like I’m spinning the wheel on Wheel of Fortune. Even I feel far more unstable. No wonder everyone has abandoned me at this point.

It’s all started me thinking about existence in general. No one asks for it. For some, existence is a gift to be cherished, for the rest of us, it’s torture. It’s a futile attempt to gain some normality or happiness. It’s a failing endeavor. Some of us will just go through life just merely existing. 

I don’t want this life. I never have. Who wants to exist in the hell that their brain puts them through? But, I made the selfish act of bringing yet another life into existence, and I owe her everything I have to make her life better than mine.

I don’t have the option of ending it. That’s not fair for my daughter, so, I’m doomed to live a life where the only love I can ever feel is from that little girl. That’s not to say that I don’t have people that love me, or people that I love. It’s just to say that my child is the only person that keeps me tethered to this life.

My last, obviously failed, suicide attempt had me waking up to the sounds of my daughter bawling. It was the most heartbreaking sound I’ve ever heard. It made me realize that I have a duty to her. She didn’t ask to exist. And it’s wrong for me to remove myself from her life. I’m one of the few people that she has bonded with, that means everything to her. 

It’s my responsibility to at least try to make sure that she gets to live a life that at least approaches normal. It’s my responsibility to make sure she never has to feel the depression that I feel constantly. 

So, what can be said? I’m merely existing. I’m going through this unwanted life so as to provide a life for someone else. It’s my duty. Because I will be damned if I let that little girl live the tortured existence that I’ve lived.

I think, ultimately, that’s what real love is. To suffer for others. 


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