a friend was telling me the other day about how the term ‘too late’ had become something of a wry reminder about opportunities untaken that turn into themes whose refrains continue in a regretful melody throughout life.
i told them that i was strongly tempted to say it is never really too late… but that i no longer believed such a thing and thus, felt a bit awkward even discussing it.
i have most often these days felt that i am entirely too late on doing a good number of things. the weight of melancholy and i suppose some self-pity has been rather heavy and i’m sitting here nonplussed and a bit angry with myself for it.
i never used to be someone who indulged in such things. why do i do it now? part of me feels as if i’m just so tired i will never again budge from where i currently sit. a very large part of me, actually.
the very notion of trying just feels… pointless. this is not a good place to be. i know it. but i cannot seem to help it. the old ways of treating myself just do not work anymore and more often than not, instead of being able to pull myself out of this rut, the attempt just mires me all the more deep in it.
it is a bit disconcerting to have your entire set of methods prove impotent. the previous sentence is something of an understatement.
it feels like checkmate. catch-22 but be damned if i could tell you what’s on either side. more of the same… for lack of a better phrase. no matter how hard i push, i always wind up right where i am in this moment.
at some point, it seems reasonable to accept this is where i’m supposed to be. mostly because i cannot think of anywhere else that looks remotely within range to imagine.
it’s odd. and accurate. i used to say that you cannot dream a thing you cannot conceive. i used to be very good at dreaming and even better at making them come true. somewhere i seem to have lost that ability.
perspective, of course. i know it could be much worse. but the areas that are weighing on me in this moment are the heaviest for me… and i am not at all doing well to find them on my shoulders… again.
the whole ‘shake it off, shake it off’ thing doesn’t work these days. i just feel angry that i’m back to square one. feels like groundhog day, only i’m not at all sure what lesson i’m supposed to be learning and i’m feeling rather stupid for not knowing.
is there even a lesson? or maybe it’s that i should be content. not like i know.
the lunar cycle. bleh. weird week. you know. hormonal crash. yeah, ain’t it fun? doesn’t it just make you wish you could do it, too? (crooked grin)
i told someone the other day that i really am ready to just give up. they asked me what that meant to me and i couldn’t even tell them. just a big, black wall of nothing and i have a feeling if i reach out to touch it, it’s going to suck me in and i’ll never be more than this tired, broken down, lonely woman.
there is always the moment when some tiny, almost impossibly small spark deep inside flare up and screams defiance… when, briefly, i feel like i could still just raise up, atlas, and shrug it all off…. i think of being stronger, like i used to be… of not letting it bring me down… of snarling well enough that the wolves at the door yelp surprise and slink back into the woods.
it is in that moment i realize just how much i relied on the anger. and how truly helpless i am without it.
then i just cry. because i no more want to go back to being angry than i want to give up… but i cannot find anything inbetween.
perhaps that is what’s wrong with me. perhaps there is nothing wrong with me. perhaps this is the life i should have had and i’ve been so busy trying to live that i’ve missed living.
i want too much, i think. always have. and more often than not, it just feels like i’m too late to everything.
which is why my friend’s story didn’t make me laugh. it made me cry. they have so much and they still seem to think they’re missing out. maybe the truth is just that we’re never really content.
what a horrible thought.
or is it?
meh.