Killing Time

I just want time to pass. Every day I try to keep myself occupied just so I don't think and feel too much, just so I'll be too tired to cry when I go to bed. Just so I know I'll fall asleep. Everything is about keeping me busy. Or trying to imagine that nothing has happened. To just pretend that it still is as it was (not that that one worked out that great in that respect). Just to stay away from the man with the sledgehammer. Just to stay away from having to face all my mistakes over and over again. To ignore, to imagine, to lie to myself. Just to stay one step ahead of him. It's all pointless, it's all meaningless in any other aspect. Just killing time, just wearing myself out. Every day is just another obstacle.

It just makes me so sad, admitting that it have come to this. And this sense of loss... There is no point left. I'm just going through the motions (and hardly even that anymore). The motions gave me hope and some sense of disciplin. But not right now.
According to Nietzsche, the greeks thought that hope was the greatest of evils. That was why it was in Pandoras box in the first place. That was why it didn't escape with the rest. Too heavy.

What if this never happens to me again? What if this was it? And on some level I don't want it to happen again. I want this to be it. I can't imagine it ever being greater. Silly, maybe. Obviously it wasn't that great.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore.