it has stopped
Some things have changed. Some have not. Some likely never will.
I have a job. I have an income. I can feed myself better. I can clothe myself as a man my age should. I can drive...some. I can feel the spark of self-reliance building. Perhaps a little confidence in my own power to Make Things Happen.
Why am I not happy?
Things are better, by all appearances, it seems. But we all know about appearances.
You know what? I'll be blunt. This life I'm living now, this much time later, still doesn't feel like my own. I feel like a doppelganger has stolen my life, my identity, and now I'm forced to live someone else's. And it feels foreign, and hollow, and without purpose.
And the worst part is that I brought it all on myself. I can't blame him, or her.
I still lay awake at night and hear the voice inside, no matter how much I try to ignore it, drown it out, bury it in work. That one lingering voice of my heart - "Where did it all go? Why can't I have that anymore? Nothing's going to be good enough after this, after what I had" - and I realize I'm still pining.
I thought I knew about jealousy then. Now I'm truly envious. The life I wanted to lead, and the person I wanted to share it with, are now - seemingly forever - out of my grasp. Someone else is living it now.
It's cruel, really, considering the circumstances. Now that I finally have the income, the resources, the determination to make things work...there's nothing to work for anymore. I go to work each day, take a ton of overtime, come home drained and wondering what it was I accomplished, and if there's anything worth doing.
Ten months now, and it's still rare that I awaken well-rested, or without nightmares, or with a dry pillow.
I impress my manager and customers at work, I charm at conventions, I make all appearances to be outgoing and friendly and polite and mature and utterly approachable. Then I come home and withdraw utterly. My brain is working its hardest to make life livable and generally comfortable, but my heart doesn't care. My heart's just not in it.
My heart's just not in anything anymore, truth be told. Despite all appearances...I'm still broken.
I had one overarching purpose to what I did. It helped fuel me and remind me of my next step. But I stumbled, and I fell. Hard.
I got back up - that's the important part - but now I have no idea where to go, what to do, what I want, or even if I want anything.
It's just...fucking...now what?
I have a job. I have an income. I can feed myself better. I can clothe myself as a man my age should. I can drive...some. I can feel the spark of self-reliance building. Perhaps a little confidence in my own power to Make Things Happen.
Why am I not happy?
Things are better, by all appearances, it seems. But we all know about appearances.
You know what? I'll be blunt. This life I'm living now, this much time later, still doesn't feel like my own. I feel like a doppelganger has stolen my life, my identity, and now I'm forced to live someone else's. And it feels foreign, and hollow, and without purpose.
And the worst part is that I brought it all on myself. I can't blame him, or her.
I still lay awake at night and hear the voice inside, no matter how much I try to ignore it, drown it out, bury it in work. That one lingering voice of my heart - "Where did it all go? Why can't I have that anymore? Nothing's going to be good enough after this, after what I had" - and I realize I'm still pining.
I thought I knew about jealousy then. Now I'm truly envious. The life I wanted to lead, and the person I wanted to share it with, are now - seemingly forever - out of my grasp. Someone else is living it now.
It's cruel, really, considering the circumstances. Now that I finally have the income, the resources, the determination to make things work...there's nothing to work for anymore. I go to work each day, take a ton of overtime, come home drained and wondering what it was I accomplished, and if there's anything worth doing.
Ten months now, and it's still rare that I awaken well-rested, or without nightmares, or with a dry pillow.
I impress my manager and customers at work, I charm at conventions, I make all appearances to be outgoing and friendly and polite and mature and utterly approachable. Then I come home and withdraw utterly. My brain is working its hardest to make life livable and generally comfortable, but my heart doesn't care. My heart's just not in it.
My heart's just not in anything anymore, truth be told. Despite all appearances...I'm still broken.
I had one overarching purpose to what I did. It helped fuel me and remind me of my next step. But I stumbled, and I fell. Hard.
I got back up - that's the important part - but now I have no idea where to go, what to do, what I want, or even if I want anything.
It's just...fucking...now what?