The suffocating breaths. The horror of lives unlived. The waste of talent. The waste of you. Breath in, breath out. Count five things. Ground yourself. Useless advice for the racing mind. How is noticing a plant, a dirty coffee cup, the remote control not put away, a piece of paper, and your children’s shoes throw askew in the corner of the room supposed to change the fact that your life is racing to its final destination? All it reminds you of is your failure to once again clean. Your inability to move and do the most basic of tasks.

No wonder you wasted your life. You can’t even keep a house clean. You can’t get your children to pick up their stuff. You’re a failure at everything you touch. Why would you be a failure at living too?

You tried to die. 38 years has shown you’re a failure at that too. You can’t do a fucking thing right. Only a true fuck up can fuck up that. Hundreds of thousands of people die every day and yet here you sit with a heart racing out of your chest. You fucking coward you don’t deserve anything you’ve been given. You waste everything. The air you turn into carbon dioxide is a waste for everyone except the plants and they probably would do better to feed off the rotten corpse of your body.

And yet you persist like ants in the kitchen. The impossible houseguest. No one wants you around. They try to poison your soul. Drown your spirit and like the ants you carry on your life oblivious to everyone’s attempts to sabotage you. You hold the line and soldier forward. Will they eventually get tired of your sad excuse of a human carcass and call the exterminators? Maybe Hitler was right. Some people just don’t deserve to live and you’re one of them. And yet you persist like the half dead plant on the kitchen table.

@meganrosee