Here I sit. It is Friday night. For the fourth day out of the last five, I am stuck in my apartment. The one day I arranged an escape, I managed to trip over a curb and severely injure my hand. So now my isolated misery is joined by constant pain. It just keeps getting better.
My life is over. I can’t, I won’t live this way. I’m not talking about killing myself. As Clayt says, that is a permanent solution to temporary problem. No, I don’t need to do myself in, I’m slowly dying just sitting here wasting my days.
There is no love in my life, and it is obvious that there never will be. What is the worst implication of that, there is no companionship, no new interested in all I have to give and no support for me in my ominous situation.
I I have not seen my friends In months. I’m left out of events because of my limitations. It seems that my opportunities to laugh have been all but eliminated.
My family is no help. They can’t see me as anything but who I was. I’m not allowed to have vulnerability.
Professionally, I am at a dead end. My job is excellent but unchallenging. My love of broadcasting and my unique talents now go unfulfilled. My lack of mobility prevents me from pursuing opportunities. My fear in self produced writing and broadcasting is, no one will read or listen.
My validity as a relevant human being has been rescinded. I am desperate for help but there is no heroic figures in this story. It’s all just a damn shame.