I feel so lost. I have been sitting here, at my desk in front of my laptop, trying to figure out what to say and the words, they just don’t come. In a big way, I feel this is a metaphor for my life at the moment, sitting in front of my laptop waiting for some sort of answer as to what I should do, but all that seems to happen is that I just stay seated here, not moving forward or backwards. Just not moving at all. And there is not a more frustrating feeling than staying completely still day in and day out. Feeling as if you’ve lost all passion. Just feeling kind of hollow, as if everything you once loved is the body of a distant life, far removed from the life you now call yours. And you say you still have passion because you remember how much you loved that life that was once yours, but you can’t seem to summon that passion now when you need it the very most. And what was once in perfect order has fallen out of alignment. Because when it rains, it pours, and everything seems to fall down, and you know it will take twice as long to figure out how it’s supposed to go back together again than it ever did to fall apart to begin with because the glass pieces have shattered in the fall.
With no real hobbies, no surefire career, or even life, goals, the remains of a shattered and lost religion, it’s hard to find a good, and unemotional, place to start. So I write, because it is the only answer I have. Writing. It is the only hobby I have, the only god I can bring myself to subscribe to. The only thing that feels as abstract as it feels concrete. The best form of expression I have, as well as my most potent weapon. The one act I will always know is my greatest strength. As lost as I may feel, writing seems to be the only thing I always feel certain about. This place is one of the few that offers consistent relief, even if it is the desire to write for a living that got me here in the first place.
My real dilemma is finding a way to step forward, a way to leave this cycle of uncertainty and the fogginess of being lost. All I really want is to feel that fire of passion within me again. But every avenue I’ve searched down left me bored, unfeeling. And the more avenues I search down to no avail, the more I feel disheartened and the harder it begins to seem that I will find what I’m looking for in any near expanse of time. Time reveals, they say, but how many years will I have wasted before the ever-present figure decides to shine its wise light upon my path. How long will I stand still here on this dark, unlighted path before the moonlight will shine down upon the path before me and a trail of stars will guide my way? Who even knows how many paths surround me, if I can’t see any of them? Standing still is a jail cell all its own. I just need some way to see one of them so I can walk down it, for now at least.
I’m sure this sounds like some sort of pity party, and I promise you it’s not. I just feel very, very uncertain of anything really regarding my life, except for my ever-present schoolwork. And I’ve just never felt so uncertain about so many things at once, and I hope I can find my way out of this phase sooner rather than later, but I cannot know. All I can hope for is that I find something meaningful and exciting to grab onto that might lead me to where I’m going.