I’m a list of things I can’t check off

There are so many things to do away with, so many habits I keep close. Every year I draw them closer to my heart, joining them to the very identity which this mind is so narcissistically smitten by.  I would absolutely not want to be who I am now, 20 years from now. That feels like a regular 20 something’s thought. 

Problems of failure, self doubt, emotional instability, turmoil, existential crisis. The usual. What makes me want to talk about my feelings, then? I cannot say somethings I can write.
I’m 24 years old, I cannot comprehend my own character, my feelings and mostly I feel like an ambiguity. Unsure of how I speak, unknown of what I appear to you. I feel unethical in most of my words when I say things out loud. Even some thoughts seem repulsive.

I seek emotional satisfaction in places where it isn’t mine to take. I want to belong to people, to places out of my reach. Aggressively seeking non-attachment, yet wanting to belong is a paradox I cannot seem to step out of. Is it a mid-mid-life crisis? They tell me, all people my age feel things I feel. How is that a relief? There are more in pain, more in doubt, more than the self-serving I in this paragraph.

To each, his own. Applies to crisis as well. I understood that I’m a stresser. I perpetually feed of stress, it’s an intake of aggressively trying to fix things out of my reach. Sleep, food, poop – three things I can put aside when stress kicks in. Sorry, about the disturbing details but such is life. I also happen to eat panic for lunch on days. My body gives up, the mind is mostly in fumes. It’s like waking up from a night of being under anesthesia. The mind is fuzzy, decision making screws up and memory gives up. I do succumb to this manner of living because, it helps me forget. Moving on is a function of the relief I get when I stop hitting myself with the hammer called stress.

While every love story is bogus, every stress story is too. But if I’m losing some kilos over it, I suppose stress works. It’s a mode of camouflaged dysfunctionality, I must enter into. How I may come out of it, is a battle for another day. I do seek your sweet sweet sayings, the way you calm me down, how you’d like me to not cry now – I do seek you. But you’re a mirror image of the desires that I projected unto you, in the absence of a real emotional connect.
You are also a sum of the nothingness that drove me to the choice of channelising loneliness, the need for support into a relationship. I feed off the masochistic urge to choose things that are logically painful. Why then, blame another of choices I made? I am masochistic, to the degree of leaving pins along the way to step on when the time is right.

Currently, I’ll just collect the pins as I go, without stepping on them. Never too late, to realise that your habits are not fatefully yours.