It is shocking how little I feel some days. I am stuck looking for all the passion, the frustration, the fear, the zest. Something has happened, I’ve let myself get hollowed out. There is nothing left.
I’m tired of writing about myself, tired of writing in circles only to come across the same discovery over and over again. There are no discoveries left to make. No matter where I go, I still have to live with myself. My mind is a place that I cannot escape.
I am alone. I am lonely. have no passion or enthusiasm for anything. I don’t want to learn anything, I don’t want to think. I don’t want challenge. These are problems that I have created and have to live with. I don’t have any real solution to these problems. I want to be left in the quiet by myself. Or that’s what I think, until I realize what a grim reality that turns out to be.
I am frustrated that I have not changed more. That I still walk through the streets afraid of my own shadow. That I still cannot swallow my pride and enter a cafe, a bar by myself. That the simple act of striking up a conversation with a stranger still eludes me. That I am still a shadow of what I could be and want to be.
Most days I drink. Most days I walk and walk and walk with no destination. I window shop and wander through the parks. My eyes flit from one face to another praying for a miracle. I see the criss-crossed hands of a couple. Two friends chatter passionately. I picture myself chattering passionately. I picture myself relaxed, comfortable and open, part of a group. This is a distant memory or an impossible dream — increasingly.
My feet hurt and I am thirsty. I cannot stop walking, I cannot settle into a destination and my heart will not stop racing. I take a drag of a candy-flavored cigarette. My eyes are closing as I walk — I am tipsy and very tired. The city is immense around me. It is so alive and so full of possibilities that I refuse to explore.