Why Bother?

I ask myself on a regular basis, "Why bother?" Why bother get up in the morning, with the aches and pains and difficulties? Why bother getting dressed, with the challenge of getting on underpants, pants, socks and such? Why bother eating breakfast or lunch, with my weird appetite issues, never knowing for sure if I will finish a meal once I start it? Why bother doing anything at all, given the absolute lack of a future, of any sort of possibility beyond a wheelchair and certain death?

Let's face it, my life is done. My bolt is shot. My bucket is empty. I know everyone says I have so much to live for; my family, my children, my grandchildren, my friends. Yet even with so much out there I feel so empty in here. So much has been taken away from me. I have lost so much that losing hope is a very short distance from here. Hopelessness has become my constant companion.

If this is God's plan for my life, well, it's a pretty stupid plan. The woman I was once married to, the one who is destroying my dying days and attempting to condemn me to poverty claims to be Christian. Her family, the ones who rejected me when we married and continued that rejection both behind my back and to my face claim to love this God, this Christ of theirs. The only god they truly love is money; the only thing they want to save is their wallets. They want me to die poor so they can live rich. This is the God they want me to claim?

Of course I am depressed. Most days I am right on the edge of suicide, wishing I had not woken at the start of the day. These days I pee into a jug because I cannot get into the bathroom at my Mother's apartment or into the head on the boat, assuming I can even get there. I can no longer get myself on to my boat; I am dependent on others to hoist me on board. This part of my life is at an end.

As to having female companionship in my life, well that is pretty much an impossibility. After all, who wants a relationship with a terminally ill man in a wheelchair with nothing to offer but a few short years followed by an ignominious death. It is another part of my life which is at an end. So much of my life has been lost; so much of it has already come to an end. The rest of it is just more endings, and not good ones. Where is the good God in this?

I hate this. I hate living like this. I hate the pain. I hate the debilitation. I hate the decline. I hate the constant feelings of loneliness and loss. I hate the sense of inevitable decline and death. I am angry that his has happened to me and that there is nothing I can do about it. I am angry that my life is ending this way.

Why bother?