Sometimes I can’t help but want everything to go to shit again. I want everything to go back to a bad place where I am hurting myself: drinking too much, letting unknown pills enter my body, adding new scars to my skin. Everything has been too good to be true. I’ve let my anxiety come back, but it doesn’t seem to ever be “bad enough.” Nothing is ever enough.
Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy the good moments in life. Laughing with my best friend until our stomachs can’t take it anymore. I enjoy driving my car for hours listing to my favorite pop songs that are much more popular than they should be. Sitting in coffee shops listening to women above the age of fifty talk about how horrible their experience was at the last coffee shop they went to. Critiquing each drink made as if they were to write a review on it. These are the little things I don’t mind experiencing in life, though I know this won’t last forever.
The unknown of happiness frightens the hell out of me. How long it will last? Expecting the worst is easier. Expecting the worst makes it simpler to get through the hard times. When presuming nothing good to come out of life, I will be less likely to get my heart torn to pieces. When suspecting that no one loves me, it’s easier to handle a bad breakup; I see it coming. I don’t fall in love. I know it will let me down anyway. Though I suppose I contradict myself, being afraid of love, but expecting to get my heart broken. Maybe this is why I find myself stuck in life. I never know where to go from here. I’m at a stop sign in the middle of a highway. I should be moving forward but I am at a standstill.
Everyone else zips around me, honking car horns and throwing middle fingers left and right. I don’t react. I am staring into a black hole afraid to move forward. Life has me stumped. Why does everyone else seem to know how to push the gas pedal down, but I’m stuck on the brake?