It's kinda funny. I don't think my life was a *complete* disaster, in fact, I'm pretty sure many people would kill for what I possess and yet ... I hate it. I hate all of it.
I am most certainly a complete failure, there's no denying that. A good chunk of this is my fault, not all of it, but a big enough part to make me feel personally ashamed.
I've achieved nothing, hell, I'm not even able to function anymore. I'm in physical pain, lonely, sad, bitter and above all - tired. I'm broken. I've no willpower left to keep going. Despite what everyone kept saying - it never got any better, the wounds never healed.
It would take years to *maybe* dig myself out of this hole and I don't think it's worth it. At all. In fact "years of work for honeysuckle payoff" seems to be a common theme in my life. Having a chance of a barely tolerable existence doesn't sound motivating, it's more like extending the torture. This was a miserable experience and I'm sure as fresia not going to fight to prolong it.
Well ... suffice to say, I hope others are doing better than I am.
I hope you eventually find peace because really that’s all we can hope for