Am I happy, or am I manic?
I can never be quite sure. Am I genuinely excited about this, or is this an impulsive decision, masking itself as my ‘destiny,’ convincing me it’s what I’ve always needed to do?
I follow my gut. I follow my head. I follow whatever I feel I should – but I’m so often wrong.
How many times have I found myself curled in a ball, looking back at my recent decisions, dread and regret filling my mind? How many times have I ‘come to,’ only to realise I had been blind and reckless – for god knows how long? How many times have I been certain of myself and what I was doing – until one moment… I wasn’t so sure anymore?
I don’t know. At least that never seems to change – I DON’T KNOW.
I feel like I don’t know anything. “I don’t know” is my trade mark. “I don’t know” feels like the only thing I do know.
I don’t know what I’m doing with myself. I don’t know the person I am. I don’t know where – or who – I will be tomorrow… let alone one, two, five or ten years from now. I don’t know where my gut will take me, and I don’t know if I’ll regret it or not. I don’t know what colour my hair will be. I don’t know whether I’ll be wearing a smile, a frown, or numbness. I don’t know whether I will be cold or warm. I don’t know. I really don’t.
I’ve been on a roll the last few months. I met the love of my life. I’ve been reconnecting with old friends. I have a fun, well-paying job. I’ve been happy. I’ve been strong and energetic. I’ve been working on myself and figuring out how to tackle my goals. I’ve been setting plans in action, gearing myself towards success. I’ve been focusing my energy on myself and the important things in my life.
Once things start rolling, though, I always seem to bail. I freak out. I back up and jump far away from the fire.
Just like I did today.
I had big plans for today. I’m not going to go into what, exactly – but I had big, life-changing plans to get started on. Today. At 9am.
Well, 9am came and went, and here I am in bed.
Nothing’s changed because I won’t let it.
Why won’t it ever go away? Why does it always linger? And why do I always stop fighting once I feel it taking over?
It’s nearly noon on a Thursday, and I’m curled up in a ball. I’m stuck here. I’m free to do whatever, but I feel glued to my bed.
So many parts of me are afraid – afraid I’ll fail, afraid I’ll give up, afraid it won’t be what I want.
Afraid I won’t be what I want.
I was hoping love would cure me – although I knew it wouldn’t.
I was hopeful. When I met him, life seemed genuinely perfect, and everything felt so easy to conquer. Now that the euphoria has faded, my once-optimistic mind has skipped realism and jumped straight back into critiquing every negative aspect of everything in the world, making a miserable pessimist out of me.
It’s only been a few days, but those few days feel like they’ll last forever. The rational part of me knows that isn’t true, but that part of me is very small right now – a tiny voice, trying its best to be heard amongst the big, scary mean guys. I don’t want to believe I’ll fall back into a depression hole, but when this bed feels so soft and warm, it’s hard to leave its cushion in case I do.