I’ve been chatting with my unofficial psychiatrist Ben over gChat. There is a cloud hanging over me. I am constantly measuring my life and comparing it to the past. Trying to get my brain back into the same space it was when I was “happier.” When I am on my way to work or at work I am having these micro thoughts of “this needs to be like before, whats missing” etc..
So in typing huge paragraphs of rambling to Ben, I said my entire life feels like a Sunday night. I blurted it out in the middle of block of text. He, being the good psychiatrist said, “why?.” I think I may know? I have a very distinct memory of hating Sunday nights, after the Simpsons and all that of course. Monday just loomed. Dread. Anticipation. Everything was quiet and dull in the house. When the sun went down and the lights went on I distinctly remember them being gloomy. Sitting by a sad yellow lamp waiting for bed time wondering if my homework was done.
When I moved away from home it was a big change. I was out of school. I had a job. No homework. Money. Los Angeles! Sundays felt different. They were relaxing and meant the start of a new week not the end. The whole week was exciting, there was no structure. Friday and Saturday were highlights but that didn’t mean any other day of the week had less potential. There were endless possibilities and there was no plan.
I’ve mind-fucked myself out of my own life. My brain has slipped back into school. I feel like I am a victim/unwilling participant. I spend my entire day waiting for work to be over so I can go home to do “stuff”, then I go home and the dread of having to go to work puts me in bed early to just get it over with. This repeats until Saturday. Now Saturday brings a certain expectation so if I don’t do something awesome then, Sunday gets glossed over… then the week starts again and I check out each day of the week at work and sleep early so I can wait until next Saturday.
I have no idea why. I like my work. I wish I was doing other things but I hardly have a bad job. There is no real complaint compared to a lot of people. I have it good. Being in another country doesn’t make it easier now. It adds a sense of excitement but it also makes it really easy to live in bubble. There is a switch, or series of switches, in my brain that have me set on melancholy autopilot. I don’t know where my drive went but I need it back. I need a mantra or something to keep me looking forward instead of back. Or electrodes hooked to my balls and some way to shock myself when I start getting mentally lame, I mean that in the true sense of the word lame.
Maybe I’ll give myself a faux graduation or Quinceanera or something.