The preservation of a corpse
I can finally say it’s over. Whilst there is life there is hope. But I can say accurately that I have no hope. There is nothing I am looking forward to, I am merely praying to God for an end to my suffering. I feel at this point that if I were to meet my future husband in the next few months that all the work I have been doing on myself has merely been “the preservation of the corpse of Annetta Mother Smith.” All hope has been systematically pummelled out of me and I can feel my brain decline as it is understimulated. There’s nothing left. Holidays fill me with dread, you eat alone explore alone, you have no one to share it with. Music brings no joy. I have no realistic expectation of having anyone to dance with. Or to share what lyrics mean to me. My story will end with me. My bloodline will end with me at this rate too. No one will miss me. I have tried, I have been forbearing and other than an abundance of suffering it has gotten me no where. I am truly desperate. I hate the stupid people who spout pleasantries such as “it will come when you least expect it” absolute nonsense. In no other area of life does something you put no effort into magically go into fruition. That’s why people love Disney movies, they imply that you have to do nothing to get love, and whilst I agree there is an element of luck, the law of large numbers helps. I regret not going to university to even get a rubbish degree, just to marry. I missed the last law of large numbers in terms of meeting a man of my own age. I hitched my wagon to a loser and now I am scrambling. I firmly believe that post 25 years old your life isn’t your parents fault, but a sum of your decisions. I am questioning the utility of the decisions I made. I had such low self esteem. I live in terror and degradation. I have no patience for dragging out my suffering. I am firmly of the mind of “give me victory or give me death.” Because this is hell. The warmest thought I have is the thought of God punishing the people who hurt me in direct proportion to their crimes. Vengeful? Yes. But just? Also yes. I don’t know what it’s like to be happy, nor have I since December 2022. We’re in June 2024 and I haven’t been happy in 18 months. No real human emotions have happened in that time and that alone has stripped me of my humanity. All I have done is struggle to survive to enable myself to meet this man who will provide companionship and treat me with humanity and restore my humanity. And believe me I have tried doing it for myself. But how can you draw from a memory you don’t have? Genuinely my actual memories have been stripped. All I remember is black. The last almost 20 years of my life have included various stages of depression and it’s starting to have long term effects. And all it’s done has show me no one and nothing is coming to save me. There’s nothing to wait for. The bright future I thought was mine, the children, the languages the knowledge. Nothing will happen if something doesn’t change in the next 6 months, I don’t have the strength to hold on. I’d rather be a beautiful corpse than rot as a person from the inside. Life isn’t measured in years, but in love and no one has ever loved me. Only used me. And whilst the past isn’t a prediction of the future it’s currently all I have. I have no hope for the future. That at least is apparent. The sheer, cold truth. I am on my way home from the British Museum where I took myself on a date. An evening learning followed by dinner and a walk. I couldn’t treat myself better. Hair done, nails done, makeup and yet the horror of going home alone has settled in. A man came to check my tickets and I wanted to say to him. “I just want to die, I no longer have the strength to live anymore. I have a ticket, but not a life force.”
I can say that I am dead inside
Unless he comes soon I will be dead on the outside too.
Grace and Courage
Annetta Mother Smith