I don’t think there has ever been a period of my life where I haven’t continually felt as though I was merely limping from one crisis to another. It’s been a week since I jotted anything down for this blog, even though I have done some writing outside of it, and that was due to me having, yup, yet another crisis.
Looping thoughts of doom, regret and anxiety have been a part of my life since early childhood. I’ve always either been on top form, nonchalant or riding a wave of deep melancholy. There is no in-between setting for me. I’m either leaping around the room full to-the-brim with glee, sit there like a robot or I’m manically depressed. And this last week it’s been the latter.
The reason I’ve been floundering this week is because I don’t know what I want to do with my life. At all. I hate my job role, it drains me and I find it unfulfilling, but I have bills to pay and I have assured myself that a lot of others are probably in the same situation. Friends have said that I need to apply for something else if I’m unhappy, which on paper is fairly sound advice. However, I’m unhappy not only because of my role, and the lack of progression it offers, but also because retail is so emotionally and physically draining. I feel I don’t gain anything from it. I’m not changing anyone’s life, or doing something of merit. It’s deeply unsatisfying.
I feel as though I just go from day to another, like a sitcom that doesn’t have any real structure or substance. There’s no on going plot to speak of, just a series of events that don’t actually amount to anything – that’s what my life feels like, only with a very anti-climatic ending. Next up on Topher’s life: More guy drama; he gets drunk again, work eats him alive & more passive aggressive tweets about anything that bothers him in that particular moment. I am so very bored. I never really say when I’m feeling down anymore, I prefer tweeting in lieu of actual communication with friends. It’s easier for me to tweet my turmoil rather than open my mouth and talk about it. Probably because my thought pattern is so erratic that it makes more sense when it’s forcibly condensed to 140 characters.
The trouble is, I’m not very good at life. By that I mean, I don’t know what my next move should be? Where should I go, what should I do? And more importantly how do I go about doing it? Even if I find something else I’ll still have to wrestle with my depression and anxiety, which makes me even more anxious because I’m unsure how a new employer will take that. I find it impossible to conjure up enthusiasm and motivational quips when all I want to do is make a duvet fort and hide inside it until the storm passes.
I see myself divided in two: One half is organised, neat, bright and ambitious. Knows what he wants and strives to get it. The other is destined to wind up flat-out on his bed and begging to be left alone. I want to write, so I do write. I am writing a book at the moment and I do plan on hopefully getting it published. I am proud of what I have so far, I’ve let a few friends read it and I have gotten really good feedback. But that negative side of me has starting harping on, saying ‘what’s the point, it’ll not go anywhere’ and when that happens it makes me want to give up. It’s hard to wrestle that mindset whilst enduring a job I really deplore turning up to.
Perhaps I should just give the middle finger to formalities, etiquette and decorum. Maybe I should just start saying how I really feel and just live with the consequences. Key words there are perhaps and maybe. Always seems to be maybe with me. Why can’t I just do?