Isn’t it funny how you can get so consumed with just making it through the day - each day, every day, day after day after fucking day - that when you finally get around to looking at your life, you realize that it’s passing you by? You’re not growing. You’re not moving forward. You’re not gaining or learning or accomplishing anything. You’re just stuck. In limbo. Waiting for something. And you don’t even know what. Sometimes I feel like I’ve spent my whole life waiting. Like I’ll grow old waiting for something that’s never going to happen, that probably doesn’t even exist. Like I’ll die never even knowing what it is I was waiting for in the first place.
Sometimes I get sick of waiting. So I dream big dreams and make big plans and talk big shit. About how I’m gonna get out of this place and go make something of myself. So my real life can finally start. How I’m going to find something I’m really good at and get a great job in that field and then get a degree and then get an even better job. And then... well, then I’ll live the good life. I’ll start going out and doing things and make a bunch of new friends. I’ll have a great place to live and maybe fall in love for the first time. I’ll have enough money to go on vacation and eat at fancy restaurants and get a few pets and decorate my place. I’ll be content. I’ll be comfortable. I’ll be at peace. But nothing ever comes of it. And in the end, that’s all it ever amounts to – big dreams and a bunch of shit. Sometimes I wonder what it’s going to take for me to wake up, get a grip, and get my fucking shit together. Moving didn’t do it. Getting a DUI didn’t do it. Getting kicked out of college didn’t do it. Burning all my bridges didn’t do it. Dying didn’t do it. Getting committed didn’t do it. Going to treatment didn’t do it. Alienating almost everyone in my entire family didn’t do it. Too many close calls didn't do it. Losing my apartment didn’t do it. And now here I am. New job, new apartment, new friends. And the systematic collapse of another last chance.
Because despite all the positive things I have going for me, all the good things that have happened to me this last year, and all the potential my life has right now to be wonderful someday, I just can’t seem to work up the motivation or drive or determination to go after the kind of life I really want. I just can’t seem to muster up enough energy to take the steps I would need to take, to get to where I want to be. I just can’t seem to find the strength and courage and endurance to face my issues and work on my problems enough to move on to bigger and better things.
And I honestly don’t know what it’s going to take. Or if anything will ever, ever be enough.