have you known what it is to fear your own restlessness? when the things you feel are so unprecedented that they leave you scared of who you are?
Four months. I barely lasted four months on this job.
Never mind the degrees of shame that this catapults you into, the worst part is having to get up the next morning after realising that this is it for you and you cannot do this any longer; and remembering, with burning shame, your own promise to see yourself through to the end of this battle come what may and that you would never allow anything to get you down. So much for that, huh?
Of course, this is all old news; waking up with this thought is now but a tiny blot on my daily morning struggle to get out of bed. Oh, and I am now six months into this job, not four.
But why I am writing this is because today I found myself surprisingly awake at the intended time of 04:30 AM with – shocking! – no further hits on the snooze option on my mobile alarm. There was no particular agenda to this, I must admit; all I wanted to do was wake up early. And do what? Was the inevitable question put forward by my uncharacteristically awake brain. After a brief struggle to get the milk out of the refrigerator and an exasperated swear thrown at the messy kitchen and at utensils resoundly unavailable at the hour of need finally laying fruit in a hot cup of coffee, I was still not exactly doing anything except sit up in bed (achievement) and stare intently at my cup willing the thoughts in my head to drown themselves in its contents (warning sign for health-check). I suppose this was my way to recover from yesterday’s Monday blues – yes, folks, my blues tend to, ah, flow over into the next day. Usually they are absorbed by the night’s sleep to make way for fresh hell in the form of the next working day, but since I cut that short by waking up at half past four, intense Q&A sessions with the mind were bound to occur.
Allow me to pause briefly here to congratulate myself on an all-inclusive depressing morning – maddening existential questions, disillusionment with life and borderline migraine-like throbbing to boot. The coffee did nothing (anybody else think caffeine is overrated?) and the only one drowning seems to be me.
But, I digress! I was thinking about how afraid I left work the previous day, realising for the millionth time that I am a soul so beat, and so perpetually unsatisfied with the things around, so easily bored out of my fucking mind. I wondered, would anything make me really happy, ever? What if I feel lost everywhere? What if? What if I woke up one day and saw that all the things holding me back in life were behind me and I was free to live my own life, yet, I was still on the same path of no-growth I had always been? Worse, what if I couldn’t even wake up?
There’s a sneaking worry in some part of my head, of losing the faith and the passion that would eventually drive me toward creative heights, because I am currently spending my days in a job that sucks the soul out of me and I am gradually losing hold of my own self.
This kind of fear is dangerous once it raises its ugly head because the dust never settles on ones like these, the door is never really closed, it stays maddeningly ajar despite your best efforts to keep the damn thing shut. I had always understood my natural tendency to feel restless in a short span of time; I attributed that to a long standing itch of never having lived in any place, other than the city I grew up in, manifesting itself into my psyche in such a way that I quickly look for something new, anything new because things get too boring too fast.
So this particular morning the question in my head was, what if spills over into my future days? What if it gets in the way of ever attaining contentment in writing and making stories? I don’t mean the kind of restlessness that would make me disillusioned in writing (this is one thing I seem confident enough of to let the world hear it) but the sort of noise in your head that presents a giant empty white canvas as an answer to all of your questions in life. On my way home that night I felt the genuine fear that there is a possibility of unhappiness no mater what I did, and that there would be days when I couldn’t shake that off. What happens then?
All of this comes under the spotlight because of how much I was losing that will to go through something difficult right now in order to buy my way to freedom later. Soul-sucking work aside, my increasing tendency to function on auto pilot was starting to make me lose touch with who I am deep down. What made people feel alive? What made them get out of bed everyday? Here I am, left with no energy to actually put into work because I consumed all of it in completing the singular act of picking up my toothbrush and raising it to my mouth.
Sometimes I imagine myself just drifting through life, place after place, not staying too long anywhere because the bells would start ringing as soon as I got too ‘comfortable’ or one street or one lane got too familiar or I got tired of the view out of the window and it annoyed me when I woke up in the morning… What if? Will there ever be a place I call home?
(a self-berating post in response to this shall soon be put up some day. or not. what if i’m feeling too disillusioned to?)