What is the point of this life? I struggle to find work. To keep a roof over my head. To keep warm. To find anything worthwhile to get up for. I go through all the motions that I have been taught to follow. But all that remains is a meaningless, endless struggle. I am terrified of the future. Of poverty. Ill health. Pain. Continued emptiness. Death has tremendous appeal. I go to bed each night, hoping not to wake up. But I keep waking up. I don't remember the last time I was truly happy. I expect that once I was, but it was so long ago. Sadness has simply overwhelmed the memory of it. I don't know if it can ever be recaptured. Not sure I would recognize it if it hit me in the face. Such is life.