Yearning…

Today was supposed to be a good day, as we went to Pavia to look at kittens. But even before we'd left, I'd felt possessed of a melancholy, and I couldn't shake it. Central to this blah feeling was the question What do I have to look forward to? No matter how many times I asked, I had nothing.

There used to be a time when I could pour myself into my work and forget my depressions, but now I have no job, nor even plans for a sustained income. I tried to replace a job with hobby writing, but with every release, I've found I have less and less enthusiasm for the process. Peter the Wolf was the last new series launch coming out that I'd had my fingers crossed for a reaction, but that first book sold as poorly as the two series launches before it. Wendy's new trilogy will start in Winter, but judging from the reaction I get to announcements about the book, I don't think it will sell either.

I dunno, peoples. What am I supposed to be doing, aside from waiting around to die? What is it I'm supposed to embrace and believe in that could take away this feeling of always being worthless? If I have nothing to offer in this life that anyone else cares about, then what am I supposed to care about until I check out?

I do know that I'm sick of this depressive cycle. So although I will continue with my plans to launch one title a month, I'm not going to bother promoting those titles, or any titles. I'm not going to bother joining more social networks or forums, and I'm not bothering to pollute the airwaves with more begging that no one sees anyway.

But I don't know what to do with myself after this. Do I keep writing and releasing stories one after another to a storefront that nobody visits? I can keep trying to send out new story launches, but I've dropped three in as many months, and nothing worked. What's really left in me now are sequels and spinoffs, continuations of the stories I've already got running. But if I write these, I do it on the understanding that there will be no promotion campaigns, no glowing reviews, nor even scathing reviews.

There is nothing else. There is just 10-15 years of waiting to die and finally find out if God is the bastard I'd been told about as a child. Am I really going to burn forever because God always hated me? Is that the punch line here? That after a painful life in this hell with insane "normal" people every damn day, God will reveal that he really hated me? So that's why my whole life had to suck, to prepare me for an eternity of even worse torture. Or is the truth even worse, and I'll reincarnate back here to be tortured again?I don't know if I'd want to come back as another transsexual in yet another life not good enough for others to even look down upon.

Today was supposed to be a good day, except I can't be here in the present because I can't find peace in my future or in my past. I feel restless desire to do something to change the balance of the scales so I won't always feel inferior to everyone else. But nothing will take away this feeling that I'm not going to be good enough even after I die. My whole life sucked. Why should death be any different, right?

There has to be something else to keep me going and give me a reason to want to be here and fight. But every cause I've tried to gather energy, I'm told not to bother. I have nothing to sustain my spirit, and I'm burning out on everything, on everyone. Is this really all there is, just day after day of watching people torture each other and then justify it on the evening news?