Although I know better...

There are times when I want to say I have had enough.

Where I want to wave the white flag and just surrender.

Throw in the towel.

I am so exhausted.

So drained from this struggle. So forlorn with my circumstances.

Many tell me that the best is yet to come.

That "next year" will be the year.

They have been telling me this for 5 years now.

And each year is worse than the last.

Forgive me, for self indulgence.

But I hate this life.

More than you can imagine.

Every day is filled with raw emotion. Filled with the pain of loss and of loneliness.

I got up this morning and looked in the mirror. Huge bags under my eyes. Wrinkles everywhere. My hair and beard fully gray...now that I am allergic to hair dye, I can't even fool myself.

I look like nine miles of bad road, and like I've been through a fucking war.

And I live in a house full of utter shit that I cannot possibly clean out by myself.

And hell, it isn't even my house. It's my father's.

Of course he doesn't live here any more.

He left me here, to go live with his girlfriend.

So, it's just me, a couple dozen boxes still sealed, sitting in the living and dining room, and even on the stairs, with the last remnants of my life inside of them. Still packed.

And the furniture and other belongings from my past life, sit in a frozen garage at the lake cabin.

I am just existing here.

Month after month. Year after endless year.

I keep trying to work a way out of this. To find good employment, and to somehow make enough money to pay my ex wife her alimony every month, and to afford a place to live.

I have determined that it is all but impossible.

I have a very small ray of hope left. But it's fading.

My photography is great. I do wonderful work.

And who cares?

Nobody.

Nobody willing to hire me or pay me for that skill, to the point where I could survive.

I've got the towel in my hand.

I am ready to throw it in the ring.

I hate this life.

More than anything I could ever express.

I cannot stand the pain, the loneliness, and the hopelessness.

I exist.

I persevere.

And I do it because others rely on me.

My kids for instance.

But that brings me no solace, and no comfort.

And almost no hope.

I hate this life.

And those who helped to put me here.

Because I could have been so much more.