There is a part of me that wants to stop.
If you've never felt the crushing force of a boot on your neck, or a life full of regret, or the rabid intoxication of hate, you wouldn't understand.
More often than not, giving up seems like the right thing to do. One thought colliding into another, each a universe unto itself born and vanished in the same instant, all amounting to a career full of maximal effort reflecting minimal results. An entire adulthood coloring inside the lines the way you believed was right, only to find the image taking shape is just everyone laughing at you.
I really don't know anymore. Not like I ever did, but now, I really don't know. Every answer feels like the wrong one. Every opportunity feels like a mirage. I'm tired, and sick, and hungry, and increasingly falling deeper into those states despite best efforts to solve for each.
I've thought seriously about committing crime out of necessity, and I've thought to a similar degree of seriousness about making questionable decisions out of compartmentalized fury. I've had to make compromises that are morally and ethically questionable. I've been in dark places, alone, without a desire to leave those places. The control is slipping before my very eyes.
What alternative do I have though? "Maybe you haven't done x to get y result." Of course, thank you, I'll give that a shot. "Have you looked at it this way?" Interesting, I'll follow up on that. "But what if you--", until my head starts to pound and all I can think about are things that people don't normally think about. You know, so that I and my family can have any semblance of a peaceful life, the one we thought we'd worked so hard to achieve.
Is the dream dead? Is the contract up? Every passing day I get closer to offering a definitive yes to those questions. Our vehicles are falling apart. Our home is falling apart. Our bank account is nearly drained to zero for the third time in as many years.
It's all so exhausting, this idea of doing the right thing and expecting that to hold value with anyone able to write a check. The right thing doesn't matter anymore, because the only right thing that exists now is whatever extracts the most value from the world around us. Exploitation, sociopathy, selfishness -- these are the ruling values now.
What once were laughs and smiles are now glimpses into our worst nightmares. The veil is fading, and what lies beyond is a profound lack of substance. We are empty now, because it appears we've chosen that one matters over all. The lucky few existing somewhere in-between, without a care in the world -- or really, a need to care -- floating on by, just outside the periphery or the heat of the flames engulfing the surrounding world. Our new home.
My hope hangs on by a thread. I ask others to hold out hope while it dwindles by orders of magnitude every time I look in the mirror. It takes a concerning and growing amount of energy to play the part of a Normal Person functioning in a Society of People. Everyone going about their lives as normal, while I merely wear a mask that carries a similar expression. Meanwhile, I'm wondering what small crimes I might be able to get away with to ensure my family can eat. Meanwhile, I still can't get a role in my field. Meanwhile, I'm unable to fix my broken car that I need to take to my job at a coffee shop because it's the only thing I can get and by the way it pays more than my job at a law firm oh but it's still not enough for us to just have a place to live. Not to mention our housing costs are not that much more than they would be if we left our home.
Everything is fine. I'm fine. I'll keep going. Until I don't.