Above is a picture of a woman named Sarah, who died on one of the happiest days of her life.
Killer Wave Sweeps Away Wife

~*~*~*

If I were truly honest, I would say that most of the time, most days, I feel sad, dejected, depressed. My life, such as it is, is unimportant, forgettable, disposable, deniable. If I were gone tomorrow, people might feel sad in a "She was only 28, she had her whole life ahead of her" sort of way, and a handful who actually knew me might miss me for a while, but they'd get over it.

I am an ant. I have made no difference. If I died tomorrow they'd promote someone else to Department Manager, Patrick would move out and someone else would live in this apartment, Cocoa might mope for a few days, but then she'd be fine. None of it matters. At all.

I'm not trying to hurt myself. But if someone pushed me out the door of a speeding car and into oncoming traffic, and oblivion followed, I wouldn't particularly mind.

It's funny, the nature of fear. I left the church a long time ago, but sometimes I wonder if there is a hell and if I'm going to burn in it. Most days I don't believe it, but with my luck the afterlife will be something like that movie, "Defending Your Life," and I'll be stuck with having to justify a dispensable, indefensible life.

I don't know where I'm going with this. I guess I'm tired of limping along, and no one can or should help with this anyway. Patrick's known for a while that I'm depressed but yesterday in the car I said something that I guess overstepped the line for him. So I'm packing it away again, putting on a big smile and swallowing the bitterness down whole. Most of it is just poor self-care anyway. So I've resolved to eat salads for lunch, sleep 8 hours each night, and work out at least thrice weekly. We'll see how I feel after three weeks of this.