If someone out there is reading this or if no one is; see if I give a flying fuck.

This is my safe space. This is where I let it out. All the ugly, mostly. Some good. I hope for your sake, that you somehow manage to only see the good parts. But that’s unlikely.

So if you keep reading, that’s on you. Or maybe that’s on me. I feel like everything is on me. So go ahead, I’m happy enough to take the blame. It’s not as if I could feel worse than I already do.

Hear that, Life?

By all means, dump more crap in me. I’m so far past the point of not being able to take anymore, and still I’m given more; more crap, more heartache, more heartbreak, more sorrow, more suffering. I don’t even know who I am under all these layers of sadness anyway, so go ahead.

I’m drowning and I can’t muster the will to survive.

I’m desperate to listen and I’m graced with deafening white noise.

I’m willing to see and I’m blinded with debilitating fog.

I’m terrified of dying but I’m not having much of an existence anyway.

I’ve been MIA. I know. I’d apologise, but I’m not sorry.

I’m a writer, and I have no less than twenty unfinished manuscripts, and apparently this blog has become one of my creation graveyard.

At this point, I barely remember why I started writing this in the first place.

But no matter. I shall say all I want to say.

This post will not be beautiful and structured. It will be messy, and it will be all over the place. But you know what? It will be real.

I guess we can start with faith.

The very question of our existence: is there a God?

If you had asked me about three months ago, my answer would be an unwavering yes.

Now? I wonder if the atheists and the agnostics actually have something right. Do they know something I don’t? Is everything I believed in a joke? If so, someone let me in on the answer.

I went from being so faithful, reborn in baptism in November 2016 to this chaotic mess, blubbering and stumbling all over myself in this seemingly desperate quest to find a way back to believing in God.

So that is one thing I really don’t want to delve deeper into, but I needed to say nonetheless.

The depression and anxiety. Man, did they break my personal records.

How? Why?

I’m not saying I haven’t laughed in four years. I’d be lying through my teeth, because I indeed has laughed. When a fucking funny scene came on The Office reruns, I crack up. When the fluffy pandas play on their slides, I laugh. When I saw Keeping Up With The Joneses, I fucking laughed until I cramped.

But that is not the point. The point is I’ve been perpetually drowning, and it’s not letting up. I’m destroyed by my own emotions. I am bent and broken and fucking tired of being hollow.

I don’t even care about you guys who are flinching over all the f-bombs, because I just don’t. This message would not be properly conveyed without the magical powers of fuck.

And you know what? I don’t have the energy to care anymore.

So I’m replaceable.

So I’m antisocial.

So I’m depressed.

So I’m anxious.

So I’m desperate.

So I’m sad.

So I’m paradoxical.

So I’m worthless.

So I’m past caring.

I don’t care, and I don’t need to be fixed. I’m not crying for help because no one is fucking coming anyway. The only thing I can seem to focus, the only thing I crave with sharp clarity is an end to all of this. Just the fucking end. Just to be done with everygoddamnthing. So, this is it.