No point

The title says it all.

I was struck, very hard, with the realisation that there is no point. And if there is no point, what's the point in trying?

I hate being alone. Craving touch. Craving contact.

I hate not knowing who, or what, I am. It's debilitating. But I'm not wanted in either world so it's impossible to decide which would be the best of the worst. The irony that the one thing I know I do desire is as the pot at the end of the rainbow.

An impossible dream.

And I hate that I've lost hope, and even that the muse of my creativity has gone.

I need to stop chasing rainbows and just accept mere existence.

I need to get a grip.