Futility

It all seems kind of like a joke. A bad one.

One that I’m playing on myself.

Trying to live each day like there’s not this giant fucking umbrella covering the sunshine. Telling myself that I’m warm and toasty when the second I look up all I see is how dark everything really is, how cold it all is.

For a while I learnt to be okay with solitude. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hard, so fucking hard. Each minute feels unbearable, but some feel comfortable. Eventually. Some feel comfortable.

The closer I get to my trial, the signs I see (all based on assumption) that make me feel as though I’m going back in, as though this whole year was just a fat pause to end up back in the same place I started this February. All these experiences that I neither wished for and wouldn’t like to give up, it’s all so confusing. I just wish things would make more sense, I just wish there was something that I could do to not feel so utterly helpless.

It’s such an unusual feeling to have no real control of your life. Of course metaphorically, you never have any control of your real life, it’s just whether you’re conscious of what fate has in store for you or whether you fight against it.

At the end of the day, the past, the present and the future have already elapsed, it’s just our time to live them this very second. Not aware of what’s next, not aware of how the past will affect it, not aware that this present moment is the only opportunity you get to tell yourself to take a breath and see the peace that’s written in your future and already come to pass.

I wish I could take it all back, every bad decision I’ve ever made, every person I’ve hurt, every day I’ve wasted, every thing I’ve taken for granted. I can’t.

No one can.

So what do we do? What do I do?

Enjoy this moment? Keep telling myself that the future won’t be as bad as it seems.

Rather should I enjoy this moment because the bad future hasn’t knocked on the door yet?

Or better yet should I look so deep into the future, that the good, the bad and everything in between is just a part of the ups and downs of life?

Maybe it’s the last option that would help me. Help me gain some semblance of peace, some semblance of understanding. Some fucking semblance of comfort.

Or maybe I don’t deserve comfort. Maybe I deserve to feel nothing but this pain that I feel, this deep fucking condensed form of helplessness that truly makes me feel like a puppet being pulled by some proper assholes. But how can I blame them when it’s me who nailed the strings to my limbs.

I should never have given them the opportunity to take control of my life.

I have though.

So what do I do when it all feels so futile?