Going Nowhere?

Yes, I wrote something negative again. Apologies. But come on, it was long overdue.

I’ve been incredibly stressed recently. The ironic thing is that quite a lot of people in the past have described me as ‘laid-back’. I guess I can give off that impression. But frankly, the only reason it comes across that way is because my stress levels are often so overwhelming that it paralyzes me into this catatonic state of denial and absent-mindedness, often misconstrued as apathy. I basically deal with stress by trying (and failing) to push it into the back of my mind.

The more stressed I get, the more ‘laid-back’ I come across as. The more ‘laid-back’ I come across as, the less it seems like I care. But I do care, an awful lot. Even though I’m not running around like a headless hysterical chicken or pacing the floor up and down up and down up and down, rest assured that in my head, where it counts, there’s nothing but worry. It’s simply sheathed under an ostensibly calm, ‘oh-well-things-will-work-themselves-out’ demeanour.

Perhaps it’s a bit of trite expression but sometimes I really do feel as if my life is going nowhere. People tend to brush it off: ‘Everyone feels a bit lost in their early twenties!’ At first, hearing that was quite reassuring. It gave me a sense of there being a light at the end of the tunnel, even if I couldn’t see it at this time in my life. But now I’m just wondering how bloody long this tunnel actually is and panicking about the fact that it only seems to be getting darker.

It’s always one step forward, two steps back.

At my most panic-stricken, I even seriously considered impulsively moving to Canada for a year. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. A fresh start! A new sense of purpose! I would most likely go through with that idea if it wasn’t for the one issue everything comes back to: finances. As if I would ever have the financial stability at this age to travel across the world and find myself a place to live in another country, and somehow thrive there.

Right now I feel as though I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. Though there are things about it I like, such as having company, overall I have not enjoyed living on campus. My Uni room still feels foreign to me; it’s so small and isolating. And don’t get me started on how uncomfortable my mattress is! The only reasonable place I have to live once I return back from Uni in two weeks is somewhere I thoroughly don’t enjoy living. The person I live with, though he would attest to this, has never made me feel welcome. Rather, unwanted. He once openly said that my presence was, quote: “ruining [his] life” unquote. It really sucks to feel as though your body is simply an article for taking up space, that you’re a nuisance and a liability, especially when you try to keep to yourself as much as possible. When I’m living there, I kind of feel like I’m a walking bin big – I need to be taken out. I upset the aesthetic. But this bin bag has nowhere else to go, and that’s not this bin bag’s fault.

People who have somewhere to live in which they feel safe and loved and wanted, a place they can go back to with the knowledge that they’re always welcomed, they don’t know how lucky they are. For at least the past 8 years, I’ve haven’t felt I’ve had a true ‘home’, and it really sucks.

Oh well, things will work themselves out.