✎ᝰ. 𝐄𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐲_No.3: Helplessness and no understanding"

    Sometimes I feel like I’m at odds with myself and how I go about the world. Or the way that I see it— Usually it’s nothing too great or particularly spectacular, I experience dissociative symptoms and find no luster in most of my days. Seems simple enough when you put it that way. 

But then there’s other times where the weight of dissatisfaction washes over me, and it’s burden so great that I feel misty-eyed just thinking about it, and I realize— Or really, remember that I’m lost. Lost on what to do or think. 

There’s been times where I had wished I had someone to tell me everything I needed answers for. To tell me what to do, what to think, where to go— When I think of this, I’m reminded of a segment from Fleabag where she describes the very thing I’m feeling. The want to be told what to do, think, say, have opinions on, how to see the world. It strips you of your agency, but it frees you of the burden to think at all.

    I recognize the lack of agency in my life, the lost of.. Joy, or something I’ve never really had in excess to begin with. I feel like most days, happiness is simply a fleeting thing that I experience in seconds and monotony overcomes the rest. Where the in-betweens blur and I don’t remember yesterday or the day before that.

Maybe that’s why I cling so hard to the preservation of it all, my thoughts— Catalogued in this digital space where nothing truly dies unless you’re wholly unseen. 

    I’ve read, and thought, and sought after the answers— Found them in places I didn’t expect or found a new glimmer of light. And I do recognize that now, more than ever, I’m better than ow I used to be. But that weight, that.. Heaviness that settles in the pit of my gut to the point that I feel the need to lay down, stop thinking, to get away from it.. It’s crushing.

In reality, thought provoking essays may have changed my perspective but it hasn’t fully erased that little bit of nothing that still tethers to me and how I feel things.

As much as I love reading about how to change, how to live— How to love to live. I still don’t really understand how that is. How it feels. 

    Maybe I’m reading it wrong, and writing this now I understand that my brain can read into things as too literal and I find myself searching for the same feelings other people, living breathing people with their own experiences and outlooks, and think “This isn’t it, this isn’t how they described it. So it must be something else.”

I shouldn’t be looking for answers that read in the same way as all those scriptures tell them to be, that my feelings and life should be as golden as they describe it. Because it’s not mine.. I feel it differently.

    I feel like I’ve always been lost in some way, empty in some fashion. That I don’t take in and bask in the sunrays outside where the trees bow with the winds, and I don’t savor the aroma of 3-in-1 pack coffee in the morning. That I don’t savor every single second of my life.

Maybe I don’t, maybe I do. Who knows? Even internalizing everything hasn’t greatened my understanding, and I don’t think knowing the answer will ever come anytime soon. 

But I’m one step, one little sliver of a step, closer to that. I think so at least. 

    I should write when I feel like it, draw when I feel like it, create for the sake of it— Study for the fun of it. I should like the silence, find comfort in the boredom— Find freedom in making garbage and doing garbage things because perfection is imperfect. 

Life.. Doesn’t feel amazing, maybe I’ve amounted it too that and that word feels too great to describe everyday. And who knows, maybe ‘amazing’ will be the right word someday. But right now it isn’t.

But it’s not bad, to me it feels more concrete than how it used to be. Less empty. Maybe that’s enough for now.

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