by Jamae Smith

Created on: August 18, 2011   Last Updated: August 20, 2011

Stuck in this shell on this little mud ball we call home, I often wonder these days if it would be so bad just to give up. True, my sisters would be mad at me for sticking them with the bill, but my heart and soul have already moved on without me. I have nothing of value and I tend to feel like I'm nothing but an unemployed screw up, pressured on all sides. Everyone wants more from me than I can give. Companies want more of the little money I have. My job wanted more of my time, right up until they fired me. I don't know what my sisters want except for me to come home and somehow take up the slack for them when I have nothing to contribute.

All I've ever wanted was peace and comfort. I was never very ambitious. I would be happy with a wage that covers all my living expenses with room for savings and a warm and comfy flat that allows cats. Sadly, I only have the flat. At the rate my finances are going, I won't have that for long. And my only source of comfort in this harsh world has passed on and left me behind... an empty shell struggling to continue my existence, though I don't want to. I keep telling myself that joining my mother deliberately will only disappoint her, and that was always something I tried to avoid when she was still here. But it's getting harder and harder to keep going when all I want to do is stop. Stop failing, stop trying, stop hurting. I can't take much more.

It's easy for people to tell me that 'life goes on' and 'things will get better'. They had people who they cared about to keep them here. My mama was the only person I ever managed to form a true bond with. I've always kept others at arms length and I tend to forget people very easily. My only real tie to this world has always been my mother. I'm nowhere near as close to my sisters as I probably should be, and I suspect they'd get over my loss very easily.

Every day is a struggle to get out of bet and every night is a fight to sleep. I only eat because I have to and cleaning is an afterthought. I try not to think about mama's passing... or at all most days, but it keeps coming back. When it does, all I can think about is the things I hadn't done or said and all the time I wasted on petty things she would have had me let go. I often wonder if I made her happy or proud or if she felt the same way I do about me; a failure, a waste of life in a dead-end job with no future. I'm almost glad she passed before I got fired for the first time in my life. I never told anyone this, but I’ve

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