Once again

I had a horrible realization tonight. I've been looking for a long time for a way to be happy just because I'm me. I don't know if I ever will find a way, but it doesn't seem likely. I start collecting hobbies, and then leave them all unfinished. I'm so tired. It is a hard thing to realize that you really don't like yourself. I'm not even feeling sorry for myself at this point, I'm just sort of shocked. I started crying earlier watching a damn cartoon, and have been crying on and off for hours. I'm questioning every decision I've made for the last several years, and every decision I just didn't make that I needed to. I almost got in the car and drove straight to the hospital tonight so that I could be someplace safe, where I could just stop being for awhile. But the truth is that there is no answer, none that the doctors can give me, none that anyone can give me. Damn I hate crying, its so fucking useless. The more I learn the less I know, until I finally understand that I will never know, but I still have to find some damn way to get through this life. Like Cee-Lo says "I can die when I'm done." I did what I set out to do, I made it through five years in the Army, because I needed to prove something to myself. But what do I do now? I still haven't found all the pieces of myself that I've lost. I know that I have to find some way to live, because I'm too spiteful to let the bastards win. I just don't have a lot left to work with anymore. Oh I could survive, but will I ever find happiness? I'm a strong person, but that doesn't do me a hell of a lot of good at this point. I can keep pushing through everything and ignore the hurt until the day I die, but who wants that? I can keep forcing myself to "acknowledge my feelings and thoughts and letting them go", but they don't go. They keep coming back. I started a jar. I put money in it every time I catch myself thinking about things I shouldn't, its just kind of a way to measure how fucked up I am over a given period of time. Maybe I'll make a spread sheet and keep track of it, that would make my therapist happy. Everybody keeps telling me how well I'm doing, but the truth is I'm not doing anything. I don't do a damn thing. I just am. I suffer therefore I am, right? I hate this, I don't like feeling like this, I don't like writing about this, and I sure as hell don't want to talk about this. My head starts spinning when I try to figure out all the ramifications of this epiphany, the ripples go so far. Its like looking at the universe, at infinity, and trying to find home. Religious people so have it made, everything is black and white, and no matter how bad this life sucks it has a purpose and in the end is 72 virgins or a castle in the clouds. Frankly, when I die, all I want is some peace and fucking quiet, and the inability to remember any of this shit. Maybe get reborn as a house cat, fat and lazy. People are too complicated, and because people are complicated they make life complicated which makes people more complicated and around and round she goes. I'm not even making sense anymore so I guess its time for meds.