I haven’t had a conversation like the one I had yesterday in a long time. My mind was just flowing and my thoughts spewing. It was hard to voice them because for a long time they were just a gurgitation inside me. I missed the fact that this talk wasn’t with who I usually have it with. It brings on an additional weight of nostalgia and fear of the unknown. She was always re-assuring. She always knows the right words to say. She’s my positive re-affirmation to every doubt that I have.

There is this itch I have. A lot like the type of itch you get on your back that you can’t reach. You try and arch your arm over your shoulder and you’re about an inch short of appeasing. And then you try and get that underhand reach- still nothing. So then you try and rub your back against the chair you’re sitting on or try again with your hand but this time swing around or under with purpose, but it’s just a tad bit too far. That itch that I’m desperately trying to quell is that of feeling fulfilled, that concern that my life is not meaningful.

Perhaps, like my listening ear was saying to me, I’m focusing on the wrong things. But maybe they’re not wrong- it’s just maybe I’m placing emphasis on things that are not meant to be so significant? I was stressing over my lack of accomplishing. I set myself up for something and I don’t follow through. I am not a finisher. I am a half-ass person. I am a flake. I bail on people. I cannot be trusted to be on time. I am often the person others believe will not show up. I am a horrible person. All of that to the people that should be front and center in my life. All of that to the people that are there for me. All of that to myself.

Because I am not good to myself- as much as I’m not good to those around me- it was nice to have some of the things that I have accomplished casted back to me. But I am a perpetual masochist despite my attempts to reinforce the beauty that self-love can bring. I have some success in that, I suppose; however, that only gets me so far in my goal to feel fulfilled. So I end up back at square one.

I wish the above was the end of my itchiness. My work life is a damned mess- it’s an itch I am scratching constantly but it just doesn’t go away. That is important because without being a sheep, without being a bot, I cannot even imagine being half sane in my outside life. This job that I have is a blessing I’m not counting because I hate it. I am being a child, I know.

So what do I look forward to, you might be asking? Well, many things. But again, my emphasis might be on the wrong things. Much like how people define success in different ways. My situation might just be like when you only talk about the bad shit that a person does to you and mention nothing of the fun times, or the small details, or what’s great in that particular relationship. There are many fabulous things going on in my life and I know I should be focusing on them, but my gear is currently stuck. I have been unable to shift and I really feel like I’m driving alone.

to be continued …



One thought on “Direction

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