It's so damned hard to find anything worth the effort to endure the trivial nature with which we tend to deal with the intricacies of life. When all those things you've been told give us meaning in life no longer mean anything and you struggle to keep that tiny flame lit that sparks your soul, is it then time to say I quit? Is it then time to realize the battle has been fought and it is time to lay the torch aside? Is it then time to give your soul to eternity?
Why am I haunted so by that which occurred in but an abrupt twelve months out of a lifetime spanning fifty plus years? Is there meaning to the pervasive disgust, the guilt of survivorship, the feelings of extreme loss, the aloneness of alienation and isolation, the overall unwillingness to confront the conceived pettiness that seems to abound throughout the supposed normal society? Why continue? Why carry on with all meaning having been stripped from the essence of your being?
There has to be an answer. There has to be purpose. There must be something written in fate that the lessons learned during the nightmare of those twelve horrific months need fulfill. What, I cannot surmise, and yet I still continue. I plod along not realizing my ultimate destiny. I verily hope that when the time is come that I am face to face with such ultimate destiny I maintain the wherewithal to recognize it for what it is and be endowed with the ability to carry on.
Were it not for the expectation of perhaps fulfilling such an ultimate destiny I should relieve myself of continued existence in the unmeaningfulness that I perceive as being overabundant within this astral plane. Although I believe that should I, it would leave such bitterness to seem as if unfinished and would require a revisitation of this small part in the overall scheme of the universal whole.
All else, it seems, has little or no meaning in this life!
By Michael Bradshaw
Disabled Vietnam Combat Veteran
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