That’s the only excuse, right? The only rational reason I could be feeling the way I am? There is something inside of me, forcing me to remain on the couch, ignore the calorie count, cancel on my friends, let exercise go until “another day.” It’s an alien form that is leeching all of my happiness, energy, and self-worth. A parasite. Surely, it couldn’t be any other reason.
I realized at some point in the not-too-distant past, that my unhappiness was due to my own neglect. Sure, I could blame my oppressive job, my non-existent love life, the ceaseless winter…but ultimately, my happiness is my own responsibility. A responsibility I felt easier shirking than a red-inked due date or the obligatory e-mail, CC: Re: End me…
How had I let it go so bad? How did I find it so easy to neglect my joy – running, writing, friends? My food had no taste, my beverages no kick, my soul no life.
It’s not as though I didn’t want things, not as if I didn’t have desires and dreams. Slightly fuzzy-edged images of a life-filled face, hands a little weaker, heart a little fuller, body a little older, smile a little more wrinkled.
How did I lose my momentum? Where had it gone? Where is my drive? My do?
It’s just those thoughts. Those How can I possibly get there? And Do I deserve it? And The Fear. The gut-plummeting fear of dollar signs, bank accounts, financial necessity. The What the fuck is a 401K? Fear. The Will my savings account ever have more than $20? Fear. The I am paralyzed Fear. I’m scared. I SHOULD be further along than where I am. I SHOULD be better off. I SHOULD be able to shop for groceries like any other adult. I SHOULD feel like an adult.
The ultimate curse word of my generation. We have all of the information of the world at our fingertips, but have no idea how to keep our own selves happy and solvent in a world with outdated demarcations of where you SHOULD be. When did I realize my eternal clock wasn’t ticking down to “baby” and “husband,” but to “comfort” and “sustainability” and “security?”
And I don’t have the answers, except, of course, that I am not indeed pregnant and the inner demon is just an unhappy me. I have no idea what is next in store for me, but I do know that I am not going to lie down any longer. I’m going to leap. I’m going to throw myself into the unknown. I’m going to risk the jump. And I’m terrified, but not as terrified as I would be if I remained on the precipice.