Read if you want. Feel free to comment.
I find myself fed up with life, and specifically my relationship. I suppose it would be more accurate to say I'm disgusted with myself, my life and my relationship. Every day I feel the overwhelming urge to just... Stab myself in the neck with a kitchen knife. I won't do it, because I'm a coward, but the dream is there, like the surface of the ocean just out of reach as I drown in dark waters.
I don't love my wife. I don't remember the last time I did. I try to find any excuse I can to spend less time with her. I await the moments I spend away from her with bates breath, and curse to myself when she comes back into my proximity. I've started an online relationship with someone else, emotionally cheating, and I don't care. Ostensibly, she loves me. But then sometimes she gets passive-aggressive. She wants sex. I abhor sex. She wants attention. I wish I could ignore her. We really should just get divorced, but she is so emotionally dependant on me that, if I left, I'm sure she'd kill herself. I'd rather she do it for a better reason. She's already addicted to self-harm and refuses to even try to stop, blaming me for it. I probably am at fault.
I am, to put it plainly, a disgusting excuse for a worm's three-day-old shitstain. And yet, in the depths of my cowardice and pathetic existence, I don't even have the courage or grace to just kill myself. I keep hoping that maybe one day she'll wake up and realize that I'm nothing but I drain on her, and she'll either abandon me or kick me out. And maybe then, maybe with that final push, something will click and I'll finally find the gumption to do the one good thing I could possibly do for her, for myself, and for the world.
I find myself fed up with life, and specifically my relationship. I suppose it would be more accurate to say I'm disgusted with myself, my life and my relationship. Every day I feel the overwhelming urge to just... Stab myself in the neck with a kitchen knife. I won't do it, because I'm a coward, but the dream is there, like the surface of the ocean just out of reach as I drown in dark waters.
I don't love my wife. I don't remember the last time I did. I try to find any excuse I can to spend less time with her. I await the moments I spend away from her with bates breath, and curse to myself when she comes back into my proximity. I've started an online relationship with someone else, emotionally cheating, and I don't care. Ostensibly, she loves me. But then sometimes she gets passive-aggressive. She wants sex. I abhor sex. She wants attention. I wish I could ignore her. We really should just get divorced, but she is so emotionally dependant on me that, if I left, I'm sure she'd kill herself. I'd rather she do it for a better reason. She's already addicted to self-harm and refuses to even try to stop, blaming me for it. I probably am at fault.
I am, to put it plainly, a disgusting excuse for a worm's three-day-old shitstain. And yet, in the depths of my cowardice and pathetic existence, I don't even have the courage or grace to just kill myself. I keep hoping that maybe one day she'll wake up and realize that I'm nothing but I drain on her, and she'll either abandon me or kick me out. And maybe then, maybe with that final push, something will click and I'll finally find the gumption to do the one good thing I could possibly do for her, for myself, and for the world.
