When Coming Out of the Cave

When I thought about my life till now, I often felt disappointed. It seemed like my dreams, my reasons, my happiness… stopped in time of my school years. Insecurities that I had back then still existed, weighing on my chest. Even growing with time (is that an improvement?). This is probably why I was trembling when I got out of the building where my driving class was held this evening. I just wished it was over, this feeling of uselessness and frozen time.

There were four of us in that room, and a teacher. The girl behind me wanted to be a motorcyclist. The boy in the back corner was in fact already a motorcyclist and was now preparing for the category B. The girl on the left in a dress and long nails of deep navy blue was a student. And here was I, so old and yet so little.

Should I feel superior towards those kids? I should have, shouldn’t I? Yet, who was a kid and who was a grown-up in that room at that time? I should have been me and that would have been enough, probably. However, the me back then, I felt, was insufficient. I made mistakes; I was smiling hard, haha, to hide that stupidness.  Hahaha, but that was not me. I felt anxious and ashamed that I wasted so many years before getting there and sitting with those people, among those four people, and it was me who was lacking. As if all those years, the experience I supposed to have had, was nonexistent.

I used to think, driving is a scary thing. You are trying to hold the beast still while the lives of others are in danger. Hold that dragon, for … sake!!! And then a tiny wish, a tiny drop of independence, of being able to help my family, of getting out of that comfort zone and doing things I should have done long ago… all those tibits of joy led me back. I might have been worried about the wrong dragon, though. Little did I knew that the real fear was just simply sitting next to people who were leading worthy proper lives and being less…

I felt so detached from the real world when I was getting out of that building just minutes ago. I felt naked in the evening sun, exposed and ashamed … that I have just tried to move on  and was already so behind.

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Sunday Gibberish

The hardest thing for a human is to be useless. If you have any skills at all, you will find your place in the world. If you haven’t … then how much is your worth?

I have a roof over my head. I have a job. I have people who bear to talk to me and people who think me nuisance. I have so much, I have so many! Today I ate huge piles of food. Because I could. Because I promised it’s my last time. My bill was huge (I was supposed to be saving). And yet I ate. My stomach hurts now. See? I can take in so much. I can have it all! You see? But for what reason? What is my reason?

People say (I genuinely do believe someone said it) that if I didn’t have what I have right now: food, roof, a bit of money, I would not search for that futile miserable Reason. I would not. I would pray god I had a bowl of soup that day. I’d pray I found at least some kind of job. I prayed, oh I wished, that my life would be what it is now. The me NOW would be my Reason.

Instead I think I wasted my life. I see such happy faces everywhere. Everyone found their true love, true passion, true everything by now. Someone’s traveling, someone’s having children, someone’s going on their business venture, building their careers. While I am sitting in my fucking kitchen (which is not mine, by the way) wanting to throw my head on the table and scream. I feel like I am fuming with anger and envy. I hate them all. Me who has everything simple, plain and little. Still me that has something to be grateful for. And yet I am in rage of envy each time I open Facebook news-feed or my colleague smirks at what I did last weekend.

I promised to change. Too many times I promised. I wanted to be a movie star, starting from the bottom, throwing my resignation letter in the air and proudly walking to my PERFECT life. Do you know that people can laugh and feel happy? Do you know that they can cheer each other up and hug before going to their “Dream/works”? Is that a movie script, you say? Can’t believe that’s something normal, are ya? I promised to be that person too. To lead a blissful life inside that perfect perfection. A little problem though …

It’s not that my expectations too high. It’s not that I don’t have that many hours a day. It’s not that I get a breakdown each time I make an improbable schedule and try to live with it for a week or so. I look into the room around, wander through the window feeling how my stomach starts to move. I hate myself. My body hates me. I hate my body, my mind hates me. I hate my mind. Each part of me hates each other. We align only in fear. Instincts come, pick us up and glue for a while. That wears off and here we go again.

I have so much to be grateful for. I have so much to be grateful for. I have so much to be grateful for. I repeat and repeat and repeat while I feel how regret fills my lungs and works its way up to the eyes. I open Word and start to write while I feel how envy wallows in the stomach. Can I build something on those shaky grounds?

The easiest thing for a human is to be useless. To sit in that comfortable corner and cry their eyes out. So you won’t have eyes in the end, so what? Will they think your worth is higher now?

I open a notebook and start to plan again. Tomorrow is Monday… The cycle continues.

 

the Why

As long as you don‘t speak about your feelings, you are fine. As long as your mind is occupied and the center of the universe is not you, you are fine. As long as you don‘t fail because failure brings sadness. And frustration. And disappointment. Thinking and thinking and thinking what would have been, what should have been, what have I done… Why me? Me… And everything collapses. Again.

I can be an optimist till the Why comes.

 

Sameness

I feel like I am out of breath. Literally cannot breathe. Air is given to me slowly, in small portions if at all (who’s giving me this mercy … or this misery?). It is air; it should be air that’s missing in my lungs, that’s keeping my head low… It’s that invisible air which I cannot see and I cannot define. It must be it, The air, because… what else could that be?

It’s half past ten and I just ate again. I thought it was hunger. Maybe it was? I feel like that emptiness is filled for once. And I can write, though just today I promised to myself that I will not.

My diary is full of wining about MYSELF. Recently I got curious and read some passages from last year and the year before. It made me feel so bad: to re-live all those painful sentences over again, without that much intensity but with a lingering feeling of worthlessness (if there is such a word at all). And the worst thing was: I haven’t changed…

So today I promised myself that I will not write (or think) about myself. You see, I noticed that I get so tired of the same depressive thoughts circling in my mind over and over again, that I tend to immerse myself into doing mindless things such as eating without limit or “marathoning” Korean dramas, the more ridiculous or sorrowful, the better (as if feeling the feelings of others would give me a valid reason for being sad).

[Yes, there is no reason for emptiness. No reason for anger. No reason for fear, that stinging fear. No reason for sadness. No reason at all. At all.]

Time is passing by. I started to notice that some wrinkles on my forehead fail to disappear when I face the shadow or that the corners of my lips are now wagging their tails down. And I still haven’t been…!

…yet, I feel so old already. As if my body just gave up on me (while we were never best friends, did we, my body and my mind?).

Time is running out on me. And you don’t know how numb and lifeless you are until you read those pages of your diary and realize that you don’t need to write at all. You can just copy and paste, for it is always all the same. What did I do all those years? Where was I? It’s all the same: my worries, my fears, my insecurities. Everything! Where was I all this time? So many years have passed and I still think the same. I still have the same wishes. I am so tired to dream because even my dreams are the same. I no longer draw because no new thoughts come to my mind. And when I try, try and try again to think of some goals (small steps, they say in those awful self-help books, right?)… Every. single. time.

I thought, if I could break out this shell, if I finish what I started, if I realize those dreams that are lingering, crying over and over again in my head… But when I sit down, it’s just … so … so … SO (!) … something… Something..! SOMETHING! I start, I am enthusiastic, I’m good to go, one hour or so and then… then…

It must be air that I cannot take in. It must be air that I so terribly miss every single time. It must be air, that invisible overwhelming something keeping me at bay. That must be it, for what else can it be?