Quitting is for Quitters, of which I am not ... Am I?

Today ... I just want to quit ... everything!

In an argument yesterday, I was reminded of all my inadequacies. Who the argument was with or what it was about is unimportant and will soon be forgotten, but the feelings it conjured inside of me have carved a hole into my heart. And it wasn't the person or the subject of the fight that bore the knife. No, I personally handcrafted the notch of self-loathing.

I artistically plunged the blade into my heart and dug out old wounds then filled it in with fearful predictions of what could be if I continue down my current path of destruction.

This path was beautiful at one point. It was vast with ideas and possibilities. On each bit of foliage a drop of inspiration dangled and glistened in my line of site. The dirt trail curved and in the far distance I could see concrete. The soil and dust were temporary measures leading to a simple road paved with the asphalt of my anticipated success.

Unfortunately, I got caught up mid-way. Tree branches became obstacles and the bugs kept biting every inch of flesh. However, the once clearly marked trail had become an entanglement of vines and I could no longer see further than the ground below me. There was clearly no going back and to go forward meant finding a route of my own, but I had not tools to create one. 

This is where I find myself today. Surrounded by pesky insects trying to bite at every little piece of hope I have left. Halted by obstructions without the means to remove them. I'm left in search of some type of line which can lead me to where I need to be, yet filled with so little ambition and lacking all desire to actually find where to begin or decide which direction to set forth upon.

And thus, I want to quit. I want to sit in the dirt as my head falls into my soiled hands and cry; for I am going no where. I am not progressing, nor am I falling behind. I am stagnant and the purely sedentary movement is somehow giving me motion sickness.

All my aspirations feel like hallucinations and any confidence I once retained has been swept away by the storms of shortcomings and a tornado swirling with hindrance and restrictive, constraining barriers. I could no sooner move forward than I could falter to the beginning. So what more is there for me to do?

Sadly, if we're being honest, and/or I'm being honest with myself, my largest barricade is nothing more than ... well, me. My opponents know it, and what's worse is, so do I. 

I get in the way of my own progress.

I create fantasies in which quitting seems the only viable option and actually pushing ahead remains an improbability filled with worlds of impossibilities.

But somebody(s) once told me, Nothing is Impossible, however, I'm Possible. The real question is, how do I convince myself that these are truths? How do I alter my path of resistance into a course of resignation? How do I persuade my mind into believing that I am better than the "gluttony of choices" out there, that I am worth more and amassed in talent others cannot provide?

My thoughts tell me I'm worthless ... I'm just as good if not worse than everyone else out there. My thoughts tell me there is nothing special about what I have to offer and perhaps I'm trying too hard when there will never be an advancement in my own personal enterprise. My thoughts have me thoroughly convinced that to stop now would be an advantage and to continue pursing these dreams would only slight my assurance further.

My thoughts are assholes.

My thoughts are burdens.

But ...

My thoughts have a point.

And ...

What if they are right?

If I've had no proof on the contrary to what my thoughts have lead me to accept about my own abilities, then why should I discount their credibility?

What really holds us back from quitting?

I really want to quit.

But hell, I can't even quit smoking ...

Refusing Eye Contact

You catch a glimpse from across the room. You can tell he's looking at you out the corner of his eye. You look away.

He, however does not. He keeps his eyes firmly planted on every aspect of you. He watches the way your body moves, listens to the tone of your voice and revels in your fruitless attempts of laughter.

Soon, he will have you.

You will be him.

You will be one.

There will be no distinction between where he begins and where you end.

You're hoping for a courtship, but he thinks it's a waste of time. You want to get caught up with things and people before you get lost in him, but the time he allows is less than mediocre.

He inches closer and you can almost feel his hot melancholy breath on your neck, so you take a step away. With ever step closer you take one more step back and before you know it you're dancing in glorious circles as far from each other as he'll allow.

Your lover tries to break in, asking for just one dance, but you know it's impossible. Instead of answering you begin to run until you are as far from everyone and anything as you can be, or thought you could be.

Laughing, he arrives right beside you. "It is time," he whispers. The words are long and spoken with such finesse as if he is actually trying to comfort you. As if lying in his arms could ever be considered comforting.

You look away in disgust refusing to make even the slightest amount of eye contact. Because the truth is, you're finally being drawn in. You're finally letting go and only moments away from falling into his embrace.

You fight the urge. Plaster a smile on your face for all the unknowing passersby. They shall not see you falter. They can not witness your downfall. They may only be privy to the last ounces of hope you keep forcing to the surface of your soul.

But who are we kidding. All this effort ... it hurts. It burns. It aches and it stings, your heart slowly melting into his hands.

And alas he wins. Just as he predicted, just as you feared, he has you. All of you. He has you and has threatened to never let you go. And after all the fighting and clawing your way away just to remain alone, you no longer have any fight left.

Tired and hopeless, you crumble into his embrace and his world becomes your own.

You are officially his.

This is not a love story.

He is not a man.

He is not even a human.

He is ... and forever will be ... the relentless unforgiving ghost of depression. So easy to give into, and the hardest thing you'll ever have to fight in your life.

Keep fighting my loves. And so shall I!

Well as for right now, I'm just going to keep refusing to make eye contact ... see how long I can keep that part of the game going.