Do you ever just get tired of it all?
The exceptional mundaneness of life, of existence? The sameness of day after day living, of the routine we lapse into and from which it’s so difficult to escape? I couldn’t tell you the last time I really felt like life was worth living. Sure, I enjoy things from time to time, find comfort in the distractions provided to me, have moments where I feel happy or motivated. But these moments are fleeting, temporary. They are breaks in the code, not parts of it. Overall life is just… existing. Being there, and going through the motions.
I look around me, at the life I’m living, and I feel… nothing. Nothing but a faint sense of exhaustion and indifference. I’m tired. I play the part, go through the motions, smile when I’m meant to and laugh when it’s right, I eat and I go to classes and I do my work and hang out with friends, but when the distractions are all gone, used up and depleted, I’m left standing alone in an empty world.
I know part of this is my fault; that it’s as much my doing as anyone else’s that I don’t make a change. I know the sayings, that I am in control of my own destiny and if I don’t like where I am then change it, but that’s the very root of the problem: I’ve fallen into the routine. I’ve dug myself into this hole and now I can’t get out. Sure, society may have given me the shovel and the digging lessons and pointed me in the direction of the X, but I was the one who so dutifully laboured at their command. I became a cog in the machine, another part of the wheel. And once you get deep enough into the machine, it’s hard to find your way out again.
It’s addicting, this feeling of giving in to society’s expectations, of letting them think for you, letting them tell you how to act, what to do, how to live. It takes away your responsibility, your accountability.
But there comes a point for some of us where you grow tired of it all. And that’s the point I’m at. Now I need to decide what I’m going to do. I can continue on with this existence and hope that eventually this dissatisfaction will fade away (and preferably not manifest into a midlife crisis later on), the alternative being it gets worse and worse until I off myself, or I can make a change. But change is scary. Change is unpredictable, change is the great unknown in the face of which we balk and tremble. Change is taking responsibility for your life, taking it by the horns for better or worse, knowing you will be fully accountable be your fate success or subsequent impaling.
I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.