The despair of repeated failure

You ever have dreams where you encounter...something....doesn't matter what, just something frightening, and you feel compelled to run for your life? But when you try to run, you can't make any real headway. Like, you're sending the signal to pump your legs like a bat out of hell should flap its wings, but...it's like you're in molasses.

That's my life now. It fills me with this feeling...that I don't have words for. Despair? Hopelessness? Self-pity? Those all touch it, but don't encompass it. It's a feeling of deep, hellish self-hate. A sense of foreboding doom. The feeling of stacking bricks for days and days, only to find you haven't even made it to the second layer of what you're building.

I don't know. I don't know how to change it. I don't know how to fix it. Line after line I cast into the sea, but never even a nibble. I'm a starving woman, but all the food I put in my mouth turns to sand.

It's wrecking any inner peace I've built. I'm seeking any source of comfort. That's not good. I just want to be a good human.

If I were any other species, I would have already been wiped out by natural selection.

Why do humans play this stupid game?