It’s been three weeks since I took a break from my blog. I guess it was my retaliation against life for once again taking a break on me without my will. Because just as the last time, I was stumped. You would’ve thought I would have learned by now.
The uncertainty of what the future held for me swallowed me whole again. Even though I knew what I had to do, for some reason I was choosing not to do it. But then I realized, no I was doing it. However I was being sentenced into the waiting period. The wait till the world responded back, “come join us again.”
During that wait I came across something. It was bound to happen with the immense amount of shows I’ve been binging on.
“I’m in a prison made by me, individualized with what I chose to imprison myself with. No one put me there and no one will take me out of there. Only by my own will can I get out.”
It got me thinking about how I’ve rarely ever expressed happiness in writing. For a person who represents to the outside world as a happy symbol, I had forgotten to how much sorrow and pain I symbolized here. I was thinking of how when I would be 99 years old one day (fingers crossed) I would read my writing and think back to how I was such a sad child. I would reminisce my horrible life. Although in reality, it was not. I have had days where I’ve been happy. I just unfortunately haven’t shared it on here.
To me happiness is something so physical and mentally felt in the moment. It’s the smiles, the affection, the touch, and senses that are alive that second.
But the irony is I do still gain comfort here. A content feeling that is a different version of inexplicable happiness. Not the usual high of being on cloud nine, but more like ah now I think I can truly rest now. It’s the calm after the adrenaline rush.
And I forgot how much I was torturing myself as I convinced myself away from here. Because a month ago, the little bouts of sadness among the happiness held importance. The endless feelings of sadness and depression over a length of time just became a sameness. Insignificant. What I felt now didn’t seem to hold any importance.
The original vigor before when I thought I had the right to be angry and frustrated was gone. I felt as if I lost the right to just throw in the towel and say
“I’m done trying. If you want me in your life, let me know. Bye.”
During this wait, I’ve been terrified. I have singularly blamed and hated the uncertainty to the whole situation. I would soon miss and start to realize the importance of a routine. Before, waking up at 7 am and thinking ugh I have to go to work would often make me frustrated and sad because I felt as if I had no choice. However for 2 years while I was bedridden…for the first time I experienced waking up to nothing. Completely and utterly nothing. I wondered, why do I even need to wake up? Can I just not wake up at all?
I miss routine, but I need to learn how to embrace uncertainty as well. To learn the balance of being grateful for both, a routine to wake up to yet to not give a crap because there might not even be a tomorrow.
Nothing makes sense here.
In the end though it all comes down to a simple feeling. I just feel so left out of my own freaking life.