Losing My Touch
I remember why first semester at St. Mary’s University.
I was a 21 year-old living in a freshmen dorm. I hated my roommate. And I ate my feelings.
That was over 8 years ago.
I’m a 29 year-old living in my own apartment. I have no roommate. And I eat my feelings.
So, basically, I’ve become older, more alone, and fatter.
Within those eight years, I came out, had one terribly unsuccessful relationship, graduated from college, became a financial analyst for the state of Texas, and am working my way up.
But it’s not fulfilling. Because, ultimately, I’m not living. I’m only existing. It’s such a struggle. And it shouldn’t be.
And it’s so easy to sit back and say, “Ok, tomorrow, things are going to be different. I’m going to change the way I live my life.” But, how can I make that change when I’m nowhere near ready in taking it on? I live a very formulaic life. I’m a lemming in a shirt and tie from 8 to 5, come home to nothing, and live for nothing. That right there is the truth.
So, in the end, what was really accomplished in those eight years?
There are some areas of my life, that I have completely let go, and I’m afraid I won’t ever be able to get them back?
Here’s a list:
- I used to write everyday. I had a blog that had several followers and it was complete a joy to share my life with people. I miss that.
- I was funnier. I am so not funny anymore, what the fuck happened to me? Does age dull the funny senses? It certainly has for me.
- I met people. I no longer put myself out there. Ever. And I make excuses for it in order to hide the harsh realities.
- I loved spending time with my family. Now, not so much, but not because I don’t care, but because I don’t know how to be myself around them anymore.
- I have lost my health. I’m not dying or anything, but I know I’m not living a healthy life. Far from it. In all aspects.
I’ve lost my touch. I want it back.
And hopefully, writing all of this down will by my first step back again.
I want myself back.