No One Warns You About the Responsibilities

 I am 32. I have a job, a car, a house, and furniture to fill that house. I pay electric, sewage, water, gas, and phone bills. I pay for insurance for me, my car, and my house. I even got my drivers license today. While I am grateful for everything, I know things can be very very bad in this world for someone of my color and gender, it just feels like a weight. You could say, I don't have to have these. And you'd be right. I was doing the sensible thing. Investing, budgeting, building. But for what!  

One day you're 15 and no one trusts you with a rock. And one day, they let you buy a house! I am scared every day that I will lose it all. My title is serious, people my age have kids and pets, and I am supposed to be serious-- a grown up. I don't know when it all ended and I was handed all this paperwork and taxes. 

Part of me wants to live a life of no attachments. Wandering from one city to another. I imagined a life of me in a New York City apartment, sipping tea from my window overlooking the shimmering life. Or, walking down the streets of Prague with my hands in a fuzzy woolen coat. No responsibilities, no cooking, no ties.  

Now, I live in this little village...........with all these things. Everyday is a struggle that I somehow manage to survive. The one thing missing is joy. Or maybe something even greater--purpose. 

Too Sweet

 At 32, I now drink black coffee. Just a few years back, if you gave me black coffee I'd make a puke-y face. My coffee was sugar in liquid form. Four of those tiny creamer packs and six packets of sugar. Twice a day. 

I used to like chocolate ice cream with chocolate chips and chocolate sauce on it. Now I prefer vanilla. In fact, I used to eat boxes of sweets in a day. Now, even a chocolate can feel too much sometimes. 

I used to wear all black. Now, I add some color. 

I am stunned just typing this out. 

So much can change so fast, yet much remains the same. I still want a true love. I still want to feel like I belong. I want to want to wake up. I want to forgive myself and love myself no what what I achieved or how much I failed. I want to be happy.

I expected to be happier by 32. I expected that I'd have my shit together by now, yet I am more messier than I have ever been. I still feel like that 18 year old wanting to run but nowhere to run to. Some days, I feel like that 8 year old, standing in my school, feeling utterly alone and helpless all over again. 

Thinking of the future is scary. What if I keep declining? What if the peak is behind me? What if they were all right that I didn't deserve anything? What if my regrets turn into a boulder on my chest and finally crush the air out of me?

It is hard for me to imagine myself at even 35, or 38, or even 42.  

But I am here. I have a body that remembers these 32 years, and a wounded mind that catastrophizes. My life looks good on paper, and still cuts every day. But I’m still here. And I’m learning that surviving isn’t the same as living. I want the second one.

The Seeker

 About 12 years back, I wrote the post on this blog: The Search For Absolution, anchored with the following lines from Henry Miller,

“I see myself forever and ever as the ridiculous man, the lonely soul, the wanderer, the restless frustrated artist, the man in love with love, always in search of the absolute, always seeking the unattainable” 

― Henry Miller, Stand Still Like the Hummingbird

 

 wondering what absolution will be for me. Miller sees himself as the wanderer, a seeker. Impermanence is the very essence of his being. I was seeking relief. A young little kid, I wanted unconditional love and joy. I thought we were the same. 

 

I know now that we were different. I ran halfway around the world. I thought if I just ran far enough, fast enough, I could outrun my pain, as if it were geographically localized. But now I know, it festers within. Miller was content with seeking, without ever finding. My suffering compounded in the search for some absolution. This wanderer, this lonely soul, with a broken heart, grew tired of the chase. 

 

Now, there is nowhere left to run to. A heaviness hangs thick in the air, and the whole world feels so small. With bruised knees, I sit and let this pain wash all over me.

 

 

 

I Have No Words for This One

I honestly don't know whether to laugh, cry, or be angry about this one. 

 I was talking to a mentor, explaining my series of unfortunate incidents. He listens quietly, then says,"you know, helping you is actually frustrating for me. I help others a little, and their problems are solved within hours. For you, I keep trying but your luck is so bad that I don't even want to do it anymore". 

 How does one recover from this?  

I Wanna Go Home

"I wanna go home, go back to small things

I don't belong here........" 

 

A song about wanting to go home found me, and I understood every line without having lived its exact story.

I don’t have a home. There is the house I grew up in, where my parents still live. I fought with blood, tears, and the fraying edges of my sanity to get out. Not that they’re horrible people—just a toxic mix of personalities that vacuumed the oxygen out of every room. That place erased my coordinates. Leaving was the only way to survive.

My dad used to say when I was a kid: “Do this when you go to your own house.” “Own house” was supposed to mean my husband’s house. Even in elementary school I knew I needed my own deed, because what if that dude said the same thing? Fuck that. And now, after all of it, my father calls this place “our house.” Suddenly, “we” have a house here. How convenient. 

 

Now I have a house. I bought it with my money. I sign the mortgage. I found it. I painted the rooms. I hung the bathroom doors. I fixed the sink. I hauled 40-pound soil bags to build a vegetable garden with my own hands. I planted a lilac and a blue moon wisteria that now climbs the pergola posts like it knows something I don’t. It is mine (and the bank’s). 

 

But is it home? I don't feel like I belong here. I sit on my green corduroy couch, in front of my blue brick fireplace, and watch the world go by without me. A figure frozen in my own snow globe. This town has felt like a mistake since the day I arrived. I remember choking back tears in Walmart while trying to get a phone line.The silent cries on the sofa I was crashing on six years ago never really stopped. My gut knew I chose the wrong town then.

 

I almost got out too. It wasn't the best exit but it was a solid option. Maybe I could have been happier in that place east. I could have moved and explored further. But I stayed. WHY?! Now, I don't even remember. I guess I am trying to prove something-- that I am, I can, and maybe that I am worthy. No matter how many times I try, it will never be enough. This hollow, sinking feeling in my gut will persist forever. Maybe I am not meant to belong anywhere. 

 

I Could

I could go and find someone. In this world, it is easy to find a temporary fix. The basal needs have to be met. I thought I was a person of intellect, driven by curiosity, satisfied by only pure connection. But this life has brought me to my knees. My mind tells me to run, like a dog kicked in the streets, the fear of humans runs deep. Yet, every cell in my body screams for a connection. 

I could find someone. They won't be the one. I can stop myself from getting too involved. I can run before getting attached. Still, I will be the one hurt by the end, regretting every decision, blaming myself for getting into it in the first place. 

How does one do it? How does one take and not lose? How does one look into another's eyes and just simply look away? Rent warmth for a little time, exchange some meaningless words, and forget. 

I could give up on finding the one. Maybe "the one" is a concept fabricated by lit majors so we keep buying their books. All we do is convince ourselves that we found it to fulfill the basic need for intimacy, contact, or even just more practical needs of money and family. This is why the practical will win.

 

If I Could Go Back

On my 32nd birthday, I received a letter from my past. From myself, when I was 22. I had hope. It is almost surreal to go back and imagine the hopium I was surviving on, the belief I had of a happier and peaceful tomorrow. I did check out the boxes on which I had control: got a job she would respect, got out far away from that house, got my own real money, got my house, and, most importantly, saw new and inspiring places! 

Now, if I could write a letter to my past self, I think it would vary a lot by age. 

28 year old: You are mishandling life. Again, you are missing a clear strategy. We need a strategy for papers we want, for the life we want. I know we don't know what we want, but in the process you're letting things pass you buy. Make a concrete plan. For people, be very selective because the trauma isn't worth it. RUN FAR AWAY FROM THAT DUDE. Your instincts are spot on, he is trash even though it feels like someone you know and find fun. He is like someone you know, the worst ones. Pick the other dude, he seems boring but boring trumps trauma !!!!!!!!!!!!! I can't even emphasize strongly enough how important this is. We need a concrete plan and we can elevate our future life so much more! Get serious, don't look for a quick fix to your loneliness and pain. Be very selective and test people before investing. You have some great opportunities coming your way, don't squander them by getting so hurt by these losers that you can't embrace it. This could really elevate your life only if you pick right. Trust me. Also, don't run, lift weights and build your knees before you do your crazy running. 

25 year old: Take the first one. You, right now, are trading a happier place and a better program for a made up prestige of a university. Take it, even if you feel like you are being handed this one, take it and we'll figure it out. Also, you are wasting energy on that guy. He will never be what you think he can be. Just let it be a friendship, travel, and let go of the expectation. 

20 year old: You have just survived the hardest part of your life. I understand how much you want to run away, how much numb you are because things haven't hit you yet, but the only way is through. Process it now so it doesn't hit all in a wave when you turn 30. You have time, focus on the skills you are building, and don't think you will find anyone to help. The help never comes. You only got you. They will all change their tune once you get where you are going. You always deserved it even though you never got it. 

15 year old: Shit is about to hit the fan! I am not even joking. Right now, I guess you are in 8th-9th grade, and things feel like finally turning out well. 10th will go fine, no problem. BUT, after that will be the worst 3 years of your damn life. Your world be warped and turned upside down. I don't know if telling her now or warning him would make any difference.  Maybe it won't. But you lost sight of the goal and dissociated. Cut the chord of the damn computer, never join facebook, and get comfortable with misery. Get single minded and focused. You can do this, make a strategy with multiple fallback options. Don't let him put you in that coaching institute to save a few pennies. If this goes the way it went for me, it will weigh on you for your entire life and you will never be rid of it, like a face tattoo. I know it is unfair, yet this is the situation. Those people are not worth your time or energy. Don't bury your head in the sand to avoid the situation. Let it burn, get some real help, and let him say horrible shit to you. It will be worth it in the end. Fight now so you can live later. Otherwise, you'll be a shell existing through years just for nothing. Slowly, everything will erode to a point where you won't even like your own reflection. 

6 to 13 year old: Childhood is not our time, really. You are about to lose some people. There will be peace, relatively, at home afterwards. But your life will be shit. You will be bullied mercilessly in the new school, you won't have any friends, and no one will give you an ounce of grace. You will be accused to things you didn't even think possible. But life is like this for us. No one will leave us alone and no one will appreciate us either. Grow your hair out now, start running to lose the weight, don't eat cookies, and get back to your 3rd grade self. Teach yourself. Find books and read more books. There is nothing to gain from the people around you, they won't amount to anything anyways. Don't internalize the harassment, work on your health and education. That is our only grace. You will have to put in twice as much to get half. That's just how life is for us. Running really does help you in so many ways and you can do it. You don't understand this right now, but you're teetering between intense hopium and great numbness. This will be your life if you don't change now. It will only get exponentially worse. Every single day. Brace for impact, prepare your body and mind. You have the strength of attention span, dedication, and the ability to teach yourself. Get the books and pave a path that will take you out of this shithole. We are nobody's favorite person, and that's OK. It gets so much worse, but then once to get to a better place all those bitches come back love bombing. It's a whiplash that can break the neck, and certainly the brain. The only is through elevating your thought, your skills, and your competency. Own your truth, read, and focus on bettering your brain and body. I know it hurts a lot right now, but we can't change people or wish for some miracle; nothing is coming and no one is going to help. The only way is through dedicated hard work. We might not be gifted through IQ, but are gifted in dedication, perseverance, and the ability to endure shit. You can do this, you don't need these people. Maybe if you succeed, I won't be writing this to you. 

 Me as a fetus: Dear fetus, if you can understand me, die now. Save yourself, pick something else. This is not worth it.