I have a new word floating around my head, dislodged from somewhere: defeat.
It's such a strange word. I always assumed it belonged in another world, of military metaphors, in sports, in combat. It's strange that it feels so appropriate, so right, so me.
I feel defeated.
Beaten down by life, the world, all my traumas, broken relationships, broken promises, deaths in the family, death of friendships. I am absolutely exhausted from hoping and waking up everyday.
I realize that I am here only by sheer force of will. I have no reason to be here, no reason to move forward, no where to go.
I have given up on love.
In my pocket, my secret pocket, I keep a small, small dream of escape, to another life, another chance at life.
I suspect I am on the verge of another depression. Oh, such a tiresome prospect. Depression won't save me anymore.
This, of course, is one big secret. My latest, grand secret of secrets. If you met me, you will never know this. I never let on. I will tell you, "Life is good" and mean it.
And that's the thing: despite me, despite my will, prayers, belief, desire--despite it all, I come down to this.
A heavy arrow embedded in my shoulder, embedded into the wall behind me, trapping me. A hail of arrows follow.