When I add it all up, it amounts to something. I do, I mean. The sum of my experiences and all that. I hold it up to the light. I bring it closer to my eye. What am I looking at? What is this for? I don't know.
I think I know what it could've been. I could've been. But I am the way that I am and that's the way that is. There are worse possibilities. And of course there are possibilities that could've been better than the reality. But it's probably not healthy to look at it that way. Not healthy to look at it as some lost cause. That's pessimistic. Self-loathing. That's pathetic. I shouldn't look at myself that way. But I do, sometimes.
Sometimes I feel underwater. Why can't I be the water? Why can't I be the tides?
When reflecting, I have trouble accepting that I am living my life. That I am creating my own experiences. Sometimes life feels like it's happening to me. I suppose I choose to let it affect me in that way, don't I?
Aren't I too old to feel this way? I'm probably going to feel this way forever. Maybe not as often as I do now. In moments of weakness, perhaps.
When I look forward, I don't see anything in particular. I have plans, sure, goals. I'm not sure how to accomplish them. I'm not motivated enough. I could have more plans, better goals. I should, but I don't.
It's becoming harder for me to fall asleep. The days feel slow. The months feel faster. The years pass me by and when I count them, I feel a weight in my stomach. I feel something slowly growing. It's some amalgamation of stress, grief and dread. A knotted tension inside.
8, 9... almost 10 years. Close to a decade. My life's pages flipping before my eyes faster and faster and I don't want to go back to read any of the chapters. I can't make out the words and I just want to feel like I am putting the ink on the paper. If you've read it, don't tell me how it ends, but hopefully the plot gets better.