I am still here.

I managed to survive last year.
I made plans to make plans for new year. I failed.
I also made plans how to end the year. I failed that too.
I didn't fail at failing and failing myself. 
Right now I'm struggling not to fall in the abyss of self-destruction and self-hatred. Because of all the failing. 
It is simple to fall in. It is easy. It is known. I know how to fall in it and I know how to swim in my shit.
But, somehow I managed to make a commitment for a change. I vowed I'm starting new. I made it clear I need a new start. 
Just the execution of this is a bit blurry. Because it involves my ass sitting behind the table and writting and digging deep into me and writting and making deadlines and making things change.
Well, my ass is not used to that. It is used to take shortcuts, to avoid things and to postpone things until they no longer matter.
But, for some strange reason, now it is different.
Just that I managed to fail is still bugging me. 
But, taking a different look at the situation, I didn't fail at execution. I failed at expectations. I made plans and I expected things to be like this and like that. And then when I was  going to do things, I wasn't quite satisfied because they didn't quite look the way I wanted to.
Point?
Need to write. Seriously. I need to write more. 
And to meditate.
And to take care of my finances.
At the moment, I would also gladly get laid, but somehow I don't have the energy. I need to put myself together. 
This is my last call.
I am still here.