Lately, I feel like I’m stuck. Physically, emotionally, creatively. I’m stuck. I’m in a cycle that I desperately want out of, but nothing seems to work. If you look back at my life five years ago I was in the same position. Alone. Stuck in a job that I wasn’t invested in, killing myself at that job so I could pay bills, too tired to do anything but that job and every day that went by without picking up my camera or writing chipped away at my…me. And they’re all excuses. If you really love something, you’ll find a way. But when I’m depressed I take away the things I love. Not consciously, but bit by bit it gets harder. The voice in my head telling me why bother? It’s not going to amount to anything anyway.
I’m looking around at my life and, I’m wondering why? If this is it; if working jobs I don’t love and barely being able to pay my bills is it? If I’m going to spend this completely unremarkable life alone, if I’m not going to be able to share my life with someone, then what’s the point? I want so much more. I need so much more, but I’m not sure I can get it. Maybe I’m asking for too much. Maybe all the time I’ve spent with my head in a book reading about fantastic lives and loves and travels has skewed my expectations. I wish so much that being healthy and having amazing friends and family were enough.
Life would be so different if I wasn’t carrying around this constant weight of more. But it’s there. And it’s been pressing on me for so long I’ve stopped moving. Even the smallest of steps feels insurmountable. And I’m trying to be okay with what I’ve had. Accept that not everyone gets what they need. That part of being human is failing and falling and doing without.
It’s just not enough.