The Boys of Summer

All I can think about is the fact that it's July and I'm currently curled up under the duvet wearing a uber soft hoodie. I should be sweltering under the hot summer sun. Something feels off. I don't quite know what it is. I feel like I say that a lot. That I don't know. Maybe I do and I'm just not confident enough in myself to say it. I'm tired. Physically and mentally tired. I need to just take time to decompress. And that's what it feels like I'm doing. Just waking up one morning and decing to quit my job-that was a week ago today. I've already worked one new job and just got another one. Maybe I'll share that first new job that lasted all of two days. And no, I wasn't fired. I'm both anxious and excited to start this new chapter in my life. The anxiety and unease over the unknown is consuming. It feels like no matter what I do, I will always make a mistake. And I think that when I make a mistake, everyone is going to laugh at me. I know that mistakes are part of life and that I have made pleanty of them in the past, some of them not being a big deal at all. I don't know where this fear is coming from. It's crawling through my veins, coating every single thought that occupies my mind. I've never been this anxious before. It feels as if with each pssing year I get more and more anxious. Is this brought on my age? My mind keeps drifiting back to my time in the psychiatric care unit I decided to spend time in back in May. The crinkle of the blow-up type mattress. The crinkle of the sheets. The brick walls. The coolness of the place. And watching The Whole 9 Yards while I hid in my room, my anxiety on level 10. It's a favourite film of mine and we were allowed to watch what we wanted. A film about a hitman from Chicago hiding in Montreal cheers me up. Go figure. I don't know why. It was two months ago. Maybe because I had a job security then and I was less anxious about everything going on around me. I know I should have waited to have another job safely in place before leaving my job. I couldn't deal with the bullshit anymore. I told Chuckles personal reasons, but that really wasn't it at all. It was how I was used, abused and treated like overall shit there. I couldn't cope anymore. (Here's some irony for you all. I found all of the name tags I've had since I started that job all over the house. Now I have 6 name tags that have absolutely no purpose. It's not like I can go to another store of theirs and work.) I'm constantly bored. I experienced this at work too, but with the job hunting and things, the lack of stimulation has me on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The pressure that I'm under is unbelieveable. A home, bills, food, my dog, taxes. It's like everything is hitting me when I just need to crash. I've been strong for so long, pushing through everything, giving away pieces of myself away. And you know what? Most of them don't give me anything in return. I'm left standing, feeling emoptier than ever, wondering what it is that I did wrong. It hurts beyond words. I keep saying yes, when I should probably be saying no. Maybe I'm just not meant for this world. More and more I start to think that I'm not meant to be here. And there are times when I just don't know what to do with myself. I feel like I've done nothing with my life. My books mean nothing. My travels and tours mean nothing. I've thrown myself into my work for 12 years now and I have nothing to show for it. I am a complete failure. It eats me alive inside. I was told I was talented and had an ability to create paintings using words...and where has that gotten me? Broken and alone, curled up with a bottle under my desk. I don't know what I'm doing with myself. I have other projects in the works, but I don't think that I'll be finishing them. Nobody gives a shit. I used to be okay with writing and producing for myself, but it's just not enough. It's starting to cost me more than it's worth. It's taken a toll on me physically, emotionally and finacially. I thought that I'd be better off, that I was something special. Now I've had to face the reality that it was just an illusion. I would never reach the status that I dreamed of. I am a fucking loser. There's nothing others can say to me. The facts are right there in black and white in front of us. I used to have words flow out of me, now I just am so crestfallen and heartbroken that I just can't. It all feels like a giant nothing. I have nothing to say anymore. And more over, I don't think anyone cares what I have to say. In all the years of doing these blogs and books, I've never been able to connect with anyone over these. I still feel like a shadow while others are out living lives. I was born old and my only purpose is to die. The iscolation has settled deep inside my bones and there's no treatment for it. My emptiness has become a cancer that has ravaged me from the inside. I've done everything that I can to fight it off. I'm surprised that I even made it this far. Small wonders I suppose. I don't know what kept me going, kept me trying and fighting even when the odds were against me. I know it seems I go up and down on some of these blogs and I do. I keep things inside. I fake happiness for an audience I'm not even sure cares. I'm desperate to live up to the ideals of perfection I'd always been brought up to believe in. It's no secret that my family is ashamed of me; that I'm a great source of disappointment. I'm reminded almost every day when I see myself in the mirror. I don't know what more I can do. 15 years of therapy have done nothing. "Well, you're still here, that's something." That has nothing to do with therapy. I've tried time and time again to just fade into nothing. I'm just too pathetic and stupid to make it happen. My fear of the unknown has brought me back from the edge. And other times it was just dumb luck.