I’m just waiting for my daughter to grow up so I can diminish until I die. It’s the only real change I can envision. I am just taking up space and resources waiting to die. It’s the only change worth hoping for. That I don’t think my thinking is distorted is probably a sign that it is, but it doesn’t matter – the effect is the same, in that I am just sitting here quietly, with nothing to say and no energy and no vision and no hope, and no sense that it’s worth talking about or writing about. I don’t recognize myself anymore. I haven’t for a long time. Nobody can change anything but me. And I can’t. I have failed spectacularly at trying and I don’t  have anything left. People hint every once in a while that this self-pity is useless, but they’re wrong. It isn’t self-pity. I can’t care enough to feel pity. Every once in a while I’m dimly sorry for that person I used to be, because I seem to recall that she had some potential. But I can’t feel deeply enough to really grieve anymore either. And as for me – I don’t know who I am, but I am pretty sure I have no power to do anything but tread water, and I know I will eventually wear out and just slip below the surface.