So, if you don’t like to read that kind of self-involved, morose crap, move along. There’s nothing else to see here. if you do, Christmas came early. I’m as depressed as I’ve ever been, primarily over my abject failure to devise a life worth living, post-t.b.i. Jaime gave my life purpose. Without her, it’s emptiness and my misery is only heightened. I haven’t felt like writing in , literally, years. Right now, my guess is I never will again. I don’t feel like I’m worth loving and I feel I have no love to give. My family all seems so horribly self-absorbed. I question the motivation and caliber of my life, of every decision since 1/31/99. Starting with my decision to come back. It all seems, now, like nothing but a giant act of selfishness.
Arguing for my independence with my trust lords has gotten really old, really fast. See, I’m like a poor man’s Brittany Spears: all my money is in a special needs trust, dispensed as need be by my Trustees: Gil Roth and Peter Johnson. Gil, I’ve been friends with since St. John’s. Peter does this for a living, & cuts me a world of always legal and ethical slack. More tomorrow. Nighty-night.
Comments
Post a Comment