I have failed at everything I have attempted this year. Anything I have put any effort behind. Anything I had the slightest bit of hope about. I’ve failed. 

Yet, everytime I fail I try to find a way to pick myself up, dust myself off, and move forward. But everytime I try to even do that, I’m hit again.

I don’t feel like trying anymore. I’m so used to failure and rejection now that I anticipate it before it happens. Sometimes I still proceed and then I get mad at myself for being upset about something I predicted long before.

It’s hard to be optimistic when you no longer have anything to be optimistic about. I have nothing to look forward to. Nothing. All I have is things that aren’t fixed, aren’t correct, aren’t stable, aren’t solid, and may not even be possible. My ambition has died. My future is gray. And this time I have nowhere to run to for inspiration and hope.

Fuck hope. It’s been fucking me over all year.

I just don’t know how I got to this place and I pray that there’s a way out because it’s depressing me to a point where I wonder why I get out of bed. Why do I bother doing anything? I’m not good enough. I’m not connected enough. Not focused enough. Not pretty enough. Not liked enough. Not smart enough.

I’m never enough, so I continue to fail.