Something's growing inside me. A feeling that overpowers all others. Where bitterness and resentment once stirred me to action - once stirred me to rage with no counterweight; now acceptance, defeat and weariness rise in equal measure and give me pause. They wrestle my anger to the ground, close around it, bottle it, cast it back down. Then onward I trudge, a being with no hope left inside. A shell. Wandering aimless. Going through the motions. Buttoning. Unbuttoning. Ironing. Lacing my shoes. And not knowing why. Until I shed it all and leave this pointlessness behind me.
Nothing is fun any more. Nothing seems worthwhile. Everything is a struggle, a fight against the tentacles of despair that reach out each morning and strap me to my bed. No amount of positivity allays them. No amount of blood.