What the fuck am I doing with my life?
My head throbs in waves of pain. My stomach feels full of something rotten. As if I’d found a pile of lamb shawarma in an alley and then deep-fried it and added potato chips. It lurches in protest.
My cat doesn’t seem impressed.
This is a familiar refrain. And it can’t keep going on like this.
Every End is a New… Ehhhh, Fuck It.
It’s been a week since we broke up. The rain is pouring from the skies and I’m depressed as fuck. But I don’t know. It’s not just her. It’s everything.
I’ve never known my inner emotional self very well. Emotions mystify me. Give me cold, dispassionate facts. Math, science. These are truths. Truths I can understand.
How I feel about my (now former) girlfriend? A goddamn mystery.
I love her. She was a great companion and friend. Someone who made me laugh. Someone who brought a lot of fun into my life. My best friend, really.
Someone who I couldn’t ever really make happy, either. Someone who didn’t really understand me, or my friends, or my life. Someone who wanted something I could never be.
Sooner or later, uncertainty becomes something else. Something inevitable and sad and necessary. And you know it won’t ever change because it’s who you are, and it won’t be enough.
And the guilt. The fucking guilt. To hurt someone you love, even if you know it’s for the best. It’s so hard to let go.
And I don’t care what they say, it fucking sucks.
My whole life isn’t ahead of me, actually.
I’m young-ish. I know this. But not young like I once was.
I used to know everything. I was so fucking sure. I didn’t necessarily know what the future had in store, but I was cool with that. I knew myself. I knew what I wanted. If I fell for someone, I could feel that ache every moment of the day. It oozed from my pores.
Now? Now I don’t know anything. Uncertainty swirls around me; a persistent cloud of doubt.
Is this how everyone feels or is it just me? How does anybody know? My mother always said, “Oh, you’ll know,” but the older I get, the less true that feels. The less sure I am.
Perhaps these feelings simply fade over time? I’ll never feel that heart-racing, 16-year-old terror again, and it kills me.
I know I can feel these things. I can feel the ache as I wander the streets of New Haven, admiring its flawed beauty. It’s swirling inside of me, with nowhere to go. But it will. It’s not dead yet.
But first, we have to look within. To reflect on one’s self and understand how we got here.
Change is Terrifying.
Something has to change. I can’t keep spiraling out of control as if it’s a plan.
I’m ashamed of how I’ve let my body become something I no longer admire. Something I no longer recognize in the mirror except as a reflection of my shameful past. I’m moving in the wrong direction.
A friend reached out to me with a suggestion: Perhaps a brief sojourn into sobriety. Let’s say 30 days.
Are you mad, woman?
Upon further though… why not? Do I have any idea how many empty calories I consume a week with beer? No. I don’t even want to know. It’s fucking ridiculous.
Never mind the ol’ closing time shawarma. Yep. That shit counts, too. Not to mention the price afterwards.
And the exhaustion the next day. The lack of willpower as I try to drag myself through another work day, trying, and failing, to make good choices. Yeah, sure, fuck it, fuck life, let’s have pizza.
Now is as good a time as any. To look within. To change something, anything.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel something like optimism. I feel something changing.
I don’t know where it’ll lead. Maybe I’ll just find myself right back here again. Maybe I’ll fail. Fine. I can live with that. But I have to try something.
Fuck it. Today’s as good as a day as any.