There have always been times in my life, as I’m sure we can all say, that I’ve questioned the point of it all. I, however, happen to do this more often than anyone I know. I think the reason I do it more than others is simply a case of my own laziness. When most people do this self-examination thing, they usually find something in their makeup that they want to change and they go about finding a way to do just that. They take a class, they start an exercise regimen, they do something, anything to try to self-correct whatever it is that’s bothering them.
I, on the other hand, always have good intentions but never, and I mean never, have attempted to take that first step towards changing whatever it is that I don’t like. Oh, I think about it, I plan it and tell myself that today is the day and all that other stuff we tell ourselves. Then the idea of the task hits me and I just let it go by the wayside. Oh, I still question everything it’s just that the question I ask is more along the lines of “Why me”? Or, “how much longer is this gonna last”? Like either of those are valid on any level.
Lately it seems the questions are more frequent than usual. I always get this way during the holidays and I’ll gladly attribute my feelings to the season. I’m thinking that maybe turning 50 in a couple months may be adding to the malaise too. Not because I’m feeling that mortality thing, not even close, more along the lines of what a waste of time it and I have been. I know, I know, we all question where we are and what we’ve done. I also know, as I’ve written about on numerous occasions, that we all have regrets. Here’s the rub: I have always been uncomfortable in my own skin. I’ve never wanted to be me. I know, once again, numerous people feel that way. My bigger issue is that I don’t want to be anyone else either. So what are the options? Kill myself? Never gonna happen, for reasons that have been discussed over and over again. So I sit and whine about my life and for reasons nobody I know can explain, write about it. I guess it beats talking to myself while walking in the mall.
I go out and see people, everyone having a good time, and I’m just burning up inside. I touched on this a bit in my last post but it’s a jealousy thing. Why can’t I enjoy it as much as they are? I literally find myself getting mad at them, like how dare they have this joy that I find so elusive. I look at the pictures and see everyone doing these normal social activities, which any adult should have wired at this point in their lives, and all I can do is look for the escape. First to my car then to my chair where I melt into this thing of nothingness that does nothing but get me more upset about the whole thing. It’s a constant that’s been with me for as long as I can remember. Not being part of this social scene is always an option and it does beg the question of why I do it. I have this ultimate fear of what I’d turn into if I didn’t go out and attend these functions. It’s a good thing I have to work because I could so easily find myself slipping into a reclusive lifestyle and hating myself even more for it.
You know what’s even worse? This all makes sense to me.
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