/lit/ - Literature

My car broke down in an isolated area, in-7c conditions. I spent a night shivering and huddling around my camping stove. Its turned into a week long saga involving mixup and fuckups with tow truck companies, garages, etc. The whole thing has been utter misery, and is burning my cash at an insane rate with motel/hotel costs, not to mention the repairs. I had to hitchhike at one point. I stood in the cold and rain for over an hour. One guy even pretended to pull over and then drove off. His girlfriend or wife was in the car. I can't imagine the type of people that find this funny or impressive. I had only planned to do a day trip, and didn't think to bring a week long supply of opiates, which I am addicted to. So this whole thing has been utterly fucking especially miserable. Luckily I had some travail in my car, but thats almost gone. I am really questioning what I am even waiting for, or what is I am going back to. Last night I was drunk in my hotel room just telling myself over and over to hang myself right now, just do it. Ever since my gf committed suicide in December life has lost all fun and joy, all meaning. I'm here in a hotel room. Waiting to fix my car to get back to a job and life that is utterly pointless and meaningless. I work to sustain a body that is the very cause of my own suffering. I must be kind of sick masochist or something. I missed my interview with the police/coronial services and will have to reschedule. I talked to the woman on the phone and she said these reports take years to come out. I made the mistake of buying cider, which is too low proof to get genuinely drunk off. I cannot physically drink enough to get hammered. I spotted a whiskey bottle in the recycling on my walk here, that had about 1/5 of the bottle still remaining. I am seriously considering leaving this place to chug it. Being alive appears to me as nothing more than the presence of misery and suffering, which I must endlessly strive and struggle against. I imagine a happier future state where its worth it, but deep down I understand I exist nowhere other than the present, and my ideas of a future just drive my present sprint on the ratwheel of suffering. I wish I was never born. Now that I am alive I fear death and my biology perpetuates the very cause of my own misery. I hate myself for living this cowardly life. Wanting it to be over, not having the determination to end it, and by consequence just coasting along in this miserable fucking ordeal I call my life.