Days like these are the hardest.
Days when you don’t want to get out of bed because you’re really not sure if you can face what life has in store. Not in any sort of depressive way, mind you; shit just piles up and without something to look forward to it really drains the spirits.
Days when you’re almost in tears watching your father have yet another fight with chronic asthma (and has been that way ever since you can remember). I think it’s harder when you get older because you don’t want to see your parents in pain – and a part of you is also well aware of the frailty of life.
Days when for no reason at all panic is at the highest peak and you feel like saying, “I’m sorry but I can’t do this” even though all you’re doing is sitting in the lounge room with your parents, on a farm, with absolutely no obligations or responsibilities.
Days when you feel desperate for any kind of distraction from all of it but your phone is deadly silent. Your best friend has left on a trip to Europe, your ex-boyfriend is still not messaging (and you’re actually not even sure why that’s the case anymore and becoming quite bored with the whole thing now) and your other ex boyfriend/ex business partner is busy moving in to an apartment with his wife-to-be. Not that they are my only contact with the outside world, but they are the ones that chat most often.
I wish I could distract myself but I am so far into fog land that I can’t even think of a way to finish this sentence.
And it’s days like these that really make me pine for my old life. Not all of it; mostly just last year. Moving out on my own, going to work, being a functioning member of society, having fun, making new friends, having a lover but most of all not one single moment of panic. Anxiety, sometimes, but panic, never.
Most of all it was the discovery of my true self, the real me, the independent me that I know I am, and then to have that ripped away…
…that’s the hardest part of days like these.