Growing up, there was always an omnipresent sense of purpose being required. From my parents, there was the push to serve God, to love, serve and spread his name, and for a while that was the purpose I latched on to, but it was more than that. Books were full of purpose, of quests and evils to be defeated, of reasons to go on. The stories I liked best were stories of perseverance, and that perseverance always came with a "because." The reason varied, but there was always a reason.
I don't have a reason anymore. I'm not sure when I last had one. I grasp for them, but there just aren't any. I lost God, and I found that I had built nothing in my life to replace him. I don't have a purpose. There's just nothing there, no meaning, nothing. Life just..is. And when I weigh my life and realize that the bad times outweigh the good, I have no reason to push forward, and no reason to think things will get better.
I'm tired. I'm just really, really tired.
