Every morning I wake up. I take my stomach and anxiety meds. Then I make breakfast. I eat breakfast catching up on the news, social media, and webcomics.
Then, after job hunting until I’m borderline suicidal, I spend the rest of my day distracting myself until it’s time to go to bed.
If I’m lucky, I have weed and/or booze; sometimes I even have Benadryl.
But most of the time, it’s bouncing between writing that has become harder and harder to do the older I get, playing video games I’ve played a dozen times already, or desperately trawling YouTube to find something to watch.
In between times, I distract myself by cooking and eating…which generally isn’t much more complicated than fixing a cup of tea and some toast.
And then, whenever my body catches up with my brain and decides its had enough with this conscious misery, I go to bed, thinking of all the ways I’ve failed myself, all the ways my life has been ruined, all the friends I’ve lost along the way, and how few of them were actual friends, to begin with.
Usually as I drift away to sleep, I silently hope to never wake.