I would like to submit a piece I wrote in my journal 2 years ago during one of the rougher stretches of my life. I do feel like it relates to the bigger picture, however, so bear with me. Please forgive the edgy and melancholy language, but I suppose it wouldn’t be the work of a millennial without it:
Anxiety. Resting somewhere in between a repressed memory and a morbid clairvoyant vision, I waited, bracing myself for the unknown doom this place seemed to be soaked in. I could feel that unnerving wave of sickness wash over me and crash against the windshield as I sat at a gas station in the pouring rain, trying to figure out where I was, despite being on a street that I travel daily. It all looked so alien this time, just like in my dreams.
I don’t remember the last time I’ve actually slept in a bed for a full night. I’m confused and disoriented a lot now.
I feel more and more hollow everyday, like I am inside my own body, operating this machine that is in desperate need of a mechanic. As I gaze through my own eye-sockets, the world seems further away, populated by judging stares and whispers at my state of disrepair. Such a negligent owner, how could he let it get this bad. It seems that I am an empty vessel tethered loosely to an outcrop on a stormy night. One rogue wave and I could float off into the void, lost forever. I’m scared.
Fear. It’s a new concept to me. It’s constant. It’s paralyzing. Everything is fading into the distance. I feel old. My vision is getting worse, my motions are slow and deliberate as if I don’t trust my own wiring anymore. Why should I? I shake, I forget things, I experience sudden realizations that I’m taking a shower at 2am… or fleeting moments where I grasp the concept that I am, in fact, a conscious being. I’m still trying to figure out who I am, why must this crumbling structure, built on a compromised foundation, continue to be tested by these forces of nature? Is it the nature of man to weather these storms? Or, is something entirely unnatural occurring?
I’ve never raised my hand. I’ve never asked questions. I’ve never sought out help. It was never pride that kept me from admitting weakness. It was fear. Fear of being a burden. Fear of being left behind for someone who wasn’t always such a nuisance. Now I fear I have waited too long. It’s too late to ask for directions, its 3am and I can no longer see the shore. I’m lost.