As I lay in bed thinking (a sometimes dangerous past time for us all, a regularly dangerous past time for yours truly) it occurred to me that I will never marry; I will never have children. Fair enough. Many people live full and happy lives without the benefit of a spouse and/or children (rug rats, my dad used to say... he probably would have been fine had he not had children). The reasoning behind my... understanding, shall we say, is less simple. Macabre, really. I simply do not believe I will live that long. BPD, depression and a possible (more than likely, really) eating disorder... they take their toll and they give nothing back.
It's not like I haven't tried. The shortest amount of time I've delt with any of these is 6, 7 years (the BPD which fully kicked in around the 21, 22); the longest (the depression) 13, 14 years. That being the case I think I've done pretty well. Trying is so very tiring, though. Especially when you come to the point where you are trying for everyone else more than for yourself. I've been trying for everyone else for what seems like a lifetime... and then some. And I'm exhausted. Like a man drowning in the ocean. Wave after wave pushes him under and each time he claws his way back to the surface he looses a little more. A little more energy. A little more hope. Until finally he no longer has enough of either to keep trying... and he lets go.
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