Que voy a hacer? Je ne sais pas

I love beaches. The sparkling sand, the refreshing water, the crashing waves, the incorrigible laziness that implores you to forget the crap of your life. You can just sit at the water's edge and let the waves come to you. It's therapy.
Ever remember building castles in the sand? Or hell, any tall pile of dirt which you insisted petulantly was a castle to all the sniggering voices around you. But it was never permanent, a fixture. Knocking it down was probably the easiest thing in the world, aside from perhaps knocking down Cristiano Ronaldo (another pile of dirt). Sometimes it would be a strong gust of wiind that did the job, a careless stroller walking on the sand, or a mean bully who considered destruction one of the simple joys of life (that would be me). Lately, that pretty much sums up my existence. From scratch, I begin building my hopes, cautiously, not sure if they'll last. As they grow, so does my confidence, slowly, surely. But then the blows come. They wipe out all the good stuff. They wipe it away so well I can't remember any of it. All that's left is the crap. I get up and try to do it all over again, get back to what I was. But what do you do when it gets so tiring you don't want to try anymore?
Right now, my head is a mass of mumble. In fact, the way I imagine it, I can almost see the kicking, screaming nerves fighting it out inside. Some of them are red and are wearing funny hats. The rest have their hands in their shoes. Nothing makes sense to them either, so they start fighting each other. Sometimes, they all find an idea that tickles them all the same, a laughing fit follows. The hats fall down, the shoes come off, they're shaking so hard with giggles. But that is just momentary. Back to the hats and shoes.
While I'm writing this, one of the voices in my head tells me to cut out the word play and get to the point. Another voice says it's fun to put out the craziness and I must continue. A third knows exactly why I don't want to spell out the problems in words just yet.
To tell you the truth, I'm actually sick of whining. I'm afraid if I tell another person how sad and fed up I am they'll just stop talking to me. So i'm going to try out not speaking to anyone for a while. And if I do it'll only be for trivial nonsensical matters. None of the serious stuff. Instead, I will only write the serious stuff here so that everyone in the universe can see it and think I'm a psycho anyway. It defeats the purpose, I know. It's all right.
My mom went back a few days ago. It's back to hell at home. The thing is, events past have left such an imprint on my mind that even if things change I'll never forget them. The desire to stay out of sight and wish for silence will never go away. Not that they'll ever be any different, of course. I want to run away, stay alone. Nobody'll ever agree to that, they'll cite safety, security, comfort as reasons I should keep staying here, with family. But how safe is it really to wake up everyday feeling a new level of hopeless? Can't be very good for the mind, can it now.
Then, there's work. I was already on the edge as far as office was concerned, and now I'm pretty sure this is what standing on the edge feels like. It's not just a mental thing anymore, the toll it's taken on my health will soon be off the charts. I'm tired all the time. Mentally, physically. Two nights back when I returned from work, around 1 am, the first thing I did was flop down on my bed, as always. Then, i saw an ant, or i think it was a small cockroach, a little more than an arm's distance away from me, crawling on the bedsheet. I couldn't even summon up the energy to get up and flick it away. I couldn't. I just watched it crawl.
This is no longer laziness, but simply I-can't-do-it-ness. Scary.