random, but not really

I am tired. Simply tired. The past month has not been good to me. As the days and weeks went by, I kept feeling more and more alone. Except for Mark, reasons to push myself to the limit and be better and hopeful have becme harder to find.

Or maybe that’s the problem. I’d pushed myself so much I actually fell off.

But I don’t believe that, really. I won’t make excuses for myself or anyone and say ‘oh I worked too hard, I just need to relax.’ Everybody works hard. Everyone gets sleepless nights. Everyone forgets to eat at some point in the day and struggles to remember which of the things on his/her list has not been done yet.

No. Because I can be physically exhausted, sure. But I know how it is to be tired in a good, delicious way, like when you sink into a couch and think to yourself, it was back-breaking but hey, I did good and it was all worth it.

It doesn’t feel that way now – you know, worth it. Instead, it just feels all kinds of defeated.

The problem, I think, is the steadily creeping disappointment.

See, I’m not the person who gets angry at life. I rarely even get mad at my boyfriend, or most people, for that matter. I can debate until your tongue falls off but anger isn’t generally part of my program. I don’t get nasty either. I don’t wish other people ill. I rarely hold grudges. I don’t fire off.

But I get disappointed. Which, I believe, is far worse than any other negative emotion. Worse because it arises from expectation, from hope and faith. Worse because it fills you to the core, seeping into every crevice in your body, and leaving you not boiling in fury, but rather stoned in silent sadness. It dulls you, presses you against the earth, renders you immovable and listless.

I don’t think words are even enough to express the heaviness that I’m carrying now, this palpable weight that is just dragging me down.

***

How and where I am now can be no farther from how and where I was one year ago. And not in a good way.

Was I wrong to stick it out the way I did? To be stubborn and believe blindly that it could be done? Or was my mother right all along?

***

Why do I feel disappointed? With what, or with whom?

I can’t answer that. All I know is that a part of me wants to run far away, to disappear and rebuild myself. To see if I have something else to offer. Because to be frank I’ve given it all I’ve got, and still I came up close to empty.

***

I still believe in the things I believe in. I just don’t know who else does.