Stuck

I've built my own prison. A prison of guilt, a prison of bad habits, a prison of lies.

The walls are starting to crumble, and I've frozen in place.

I let the days go to waste, filling the time with meaninglessness.

I'm afraid because things have happened, so far. I didn't make them happen. I've reacted to people, events, changes. I made nothing happen.

I want to become the director of this story - but I don't know how.

I've resumed a light form of exercise, laid off the mountains of sugar, put the bottles away. Not enough. I want to stop smoking, but I go back and forth. What do I have left, I reason, if I can't even light up my cigs? What's the point?

The point... the presence  - and lack - of a point is a new mystery I can't solve.

It started when it became clear that my love of chatting wasn't exactly productive. It was exposed, unsurprisingly, as yet another form of escape. I made the connection but still, I'm ashamed.

So now, words get stuck before they come out. When I try to open up, tears fill my eyes and I don't know why.

I fantasize, all the time. I imagine a different reality - a reality in which I have a job that keeps me busy, challenged, secure. A reality in which I don't have the obligations I do now, where the pressure has been lifted off my back, I'm free to explore the next phase of adulthood.

I don't know how to get there, and I'm stuck.

Since I'm stuck, I go back to memories. I live long hours in the past. I pray that it come back, and the people I've lost, with it. I don't know if I'd do things differently. I used to think I would but now, I don't know.

I had reached the conclusion that some questions are best left open, without an answer. That life was meant to be lived step by step, savoring the moment, making the best of what happens, every day.

Now, that sounds just impractical. I'm sick of crawling in the dark. I don't have a vision, I don't have a goal, I don't have reasons - what's the point?

I wish I could look into other people's lives to get a clue, a hint. Yet, my pointless love of chatting has exposed to me the darkness in those people. Verdict? Nobody knows why. They live step by step, try to savor the moment, making the best of what happens, every day.

Last year I was in love, and it was easy. I felt alive, excited, colors were bright and the streets looked pretty. Even if circumstances sucked already, and they sucked bad. I refused to address that, reasoning, well, you'll worry about this when the party is over.

The party was over while I was still drunk and I still didn't recover from the hangover.

Now I'm forcing myself out of the rut, but it feels too forced.

What would I do, if I were free to do what I wanted? I don't know that, either.

I don't know anything, anymore.