Even during the roll, I felt strangely okay with the whole situation. The looming promise of death, the uncertainty of what lies beyond... for a few moments there, I felt at peace, and embraced it. I could feel it with every tremble, every roll, every groan and wail of steel against concrete. As random stray items flew about the cabin of my car, unsure of how to orient themselves amidst the wheeling chaos, I sat quietly in my seat, recounting the many failures that defined my life, over and over again, knowing that they would soon fade away into nothingness.
I felt almost cheated when I came to.
The subsequent fall-out has been difficult, but I have never expected things to ever really go my way, not for a long time at least. A failure in life at all things, my only contribution to the world a jumble of half-finished lamentations at the cruelty of life. It's hardly unique.
Never something I can talk about with others, and when I do, I know I end up burdening them, or making them uncomfortable to the point of estrangement. I try running to familiar shoulders, and only then do I realize how badly I had handled those relationships before. I try to act the part of a friend, but sometimes end up forcing my own selfish agenda upon them, all because, at the end of the day, I care more about what I want than what's best for the friendship.
Is it even worth trying anymore. I could have handled it in a much healthier and better fashion, but I let ambition and selfishness blind me to the fact that I was ruining it with every single misstep. Even when I try to back away, it doesn't erase the past, and it always comes back up.
I can't even die right, how can I manage to fix this...
