In my mid-thirties I had life by the balls. Had a good job where I was well-respected. I was in great shape, just built a nice home. Two sweet kids and a good wife. But I pissed it all away with my own selfishness. I was a "player". Good-looking, and smooth. But it bit me in the ass in the long run. Now I'm past middle-aged, overweight, bad health, and broke, with another broken marriage and a crappy job. Living in a shitty little house watching everyone I knew back then living great lives and getting ready to retire. But I'll have to work till I die due to a string of stupid decisions. So now I sit here, all alone in a house with a couple of chairs and a tv sitting on a plastic table. Broke, very few friends, and a dead-end job that I'll have to do until I die just to survive. I wish I could die. I would NEVER kill myself, because I do still have two kids and I would never do that to them. But if only I could just have a heart attack or stroke or something, what a relief it would be. | |
first of all, life doesn't make sense anyway. second.... happiness is not always and only to be found in another person.
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