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Useless vanity, the lot of it. Just this terrible sinking feeling in me that seems to spiral into the very foundation of my existence, a horrid emptiness. Too cold, too dark, too lonely, I don’t know. I don’t know why it came back, but it did. My friends are all away somewhere else. I longed for familiar warmth, then I remembered why it departed. Over the past few weeks it’s just been accumulating steadily, observed but unchecked. Last Sunday I took my confession for the year; but it was not enough to steady myself of this, because the truth is, I did not confess aloud what I really meant to say, in the most naked of terms, although I hope, I know the Lord knew it anyway, all along, from the very start. I’m trying hard to get better but it’s been almost two years since I thought about shooting myself in such a way I’d be unrecognisable but lately it’s just been this growing feeling. I’ve come to realise that suicide for me was never about ending an interminable feeling but about inflicting interminable punishment. Who am I kidding? I always lacked conviction. How ironic how consistently and thoroughly crippled by fear I am when most of my life heretofore has just been a steady string of one failure after another. Goddamn this wretched sickness in me; if I could just reach inside of me and tear out all the infected vessels in my soul that animate this coursing repulsion, this insatiable loneliness, I’d hope I’d feel better; but probably not. I’m sick of being told about my virtues by people who cannot stand the rest of me. I don’t even bother asking why anymore. Theodicy is a wheel that keeps on turning. Where is he in all of this? Did Christ suffer my selfish brutalisation? Every week I stand up there and recite my affirmation of the totality of it all. I’m the common denominator of all of it: Ana, Lidia, the rest of them, everyone else. Pathetic. You lose and then you keep on losing. There’s no reason why. Just sheer dumb bad luck, I guess. Something wrong with me. Not a single goddamned resolution I made last year came into fruition, and not for trying. I ask myself now the same thing everyone else always asks me: what good is prayer if the only time you can convince yourself it might works is when you force yourself to limit it to the ineffable? In three days Christ will be born again but I will still be here, same as I was, always am. Disgusting. So disgusting.