Over at least the last few months, about once a week or so, an overwhelming feeling of being trapped will take over me. It’ll seemingly come out of nowhere- this thinking about my situation in life- and my breathing will shorten. I’ll want to hyperventilate and I’ll relapse into despair. I’ll actually imagine that there are four great walls closing in on me and I’ll imagine myself curling up in a fetal position to try to stave off the inevitability of them crushing me. It usually happens on Sunday nights, as I think about and dread the fact that I have to get up early and go to work the next morning.
On one hand, yes, I’m grateful for having a job, even more grateful for having enough money to pay off my obscene amount of bills, save a little bit and actually have something left over to enjoy myself with. But on the other massive hand I’m wasting 50 hours of my life every week, losing way too much sleep and watching my mental, physical and emotional health deteriorate. What does time mean anymore? These last 14 months have been a blur. How can I treasure every moment when I’m in a hazy stupor? The close friends that have managed to hold on here in Maryland I feel I cling to with such desperation that I’m driving them away.
No I’m not married. No I don’t have kids. No I don’t own a house. Or apparently have any other “real” responsibilities. So if I feel this way now why the hell would I ever want any of those other things? I’m choking on the lack of free time to myself. I take photos, but then don’t have time to do anything with them. I’ll draw a picture and then run out of energy to finish colouring it. I’ll start a diet/exercise regime and then become too exhausted to think about anything else but sleep. No wonder I’m applying to grad school. I need to escape this monotonous hell! It’s the same cycle every day, every week, every month. Wake up after 4-6 hours of sleep, work, come home and collapse, eat, go back to sleep. Repeat. My tasks at work have become familiar enough it doesn’t require that much concentration anymore. In school there would be a progression. Now there’s no difference between this year and last. No identifying factors, except maybe a few extra pounds, slightly bigger bags under my eyes and an increased feeling of absolute helplessness.
I want to cry. all. the time.
And yet I don’t. So I’ll burst out at the most random moments. After a meaningless heated political debate, after a thoughtless insult to my body, after the most oblivious and tiniest of rejections.
But even then it’s not enough. One 5-minute session of crying won’t release all the anxiety I feel on a daily basis. I’d have to cry for a week.
The worst part of all is I’m terrified to tell anyone. I’m afraid they’ll think I’m emo or just plain too depressing to be around. I’m afraid they’ll think I’m pathetic or naïve for not accepting this simply is how life is, so why aren’t you dealing with it? I’m afraid they’ll become afraid of me wanting too much from them, that I’ll just end up creeping them out and they won’t want to have anything to do with me anymore. I’m terrified of being alone. I’m terrified I’m already alone.
I’ve told my roommate a number of times, when on the topic of romance, that all I really want right now, all I really desperately crave is touch. But what I’ve never really been able to convey to her is that what I’m really talking about is so much more than wanting a lover. I don’t really need a relationship right now. I don’t need a lover or anyone really to dote on. But if someone could just hold me, let me escape into their embrace, let me just rest, even for a moment, next to the warmth of their beating heart. Let me be reassured that it will all turn out ok, that one day I’ll be happy, that I’m not alone in this. I’ll be the most content soul on Earth. One night of that and, I’m convinced, it’ll be like I’m reborn. I’d be completely recharged and I’d be able to take on the world. So right now when I talk of wishing that I had someone, really that’s what I’m talking about. Touch isn’t my love language, as Elliott so puts it, it’s my life language. Touch is a reminder that we’re all connected… but that’s a topic for another day and another blog.
The painful thing is I had a taste of it just the other night. My friends and I were hanging out at a bar the other night and I, in my uninhibited not-so-sober state, pulled one over just to be close to him. I laid my head against his chest and in that I instant I swear I haven’t been that comfortable in years. I was so. tired., and not just physically. I didn’t even realize I was so tense until I relaxed against him. Or that I wasn’t that warm before he was there next to me. But how could he know any of this? How could he know that I didn’t mean anything romantic? that all I wanted from him was proximity? that I didn’t care we were in a public space, all I needed was for him to just. stay. All he knew was that I looked like I was about to fall asleep, and he needed me awake to drive him back. (This was before it was decided I wasn’t capable.)
After 14 months in this life I could understand how people become addicted. Addicted to caffeine, addicted to alcohol, addicted to each other. Any means of escape, of comfort, of reassurance, is priceless. And maybe I am naïve. Maybe I am idealistic for wanting a life that doesn’t involve back-breaking stress to make it meaningful and successful. I’d rather be considered an optimistic fool then give in and settle. I’d rather fight, and, yes, put up with this crippling misery, than accept this- what I can only see as a most certain death.
