I’ve been having bouts of boredom lately. I have often wondered, what’s wrong with me? It’s been the bane of my existence since admitting that I have depression and my anxiety influences my decisions. So, I thought I’d roughly write something out to express this vague emotion.
I have this notion that I’ve become apathetic over the course of these passing years of my self-healing journey as a way to possibly protect my fragile existence from breaking any further. It’s just a notion, but when I look at the characters I’ve since created after Georgiana of Listening to Georgiana, maybe it’s not so simple.
I was under the impression that things would fall into place now that I’ve settled on my meaning of passion. Writing to me is a passion whereas drawing is a talent I honed. This was my truth I recently accepted after turning a year older. It was also a truth I was both afraid and happy to realize.
It’s not easy to start again.
I’ve done it so many times, I’m surprised by how much fear still exists each time. I know it’s not really anything to get used to. Still, I feel, the anxiety and guilt of starting all over again are misplaced. I feel that we should be allowed to try as many things as possible, but societal norm doesn’t quite allow us to do this. The normal way of living doesn’t allow us to reset. There’s a lot of consequences to think of, and we have to take into consideration those around us.
But if I could be selfish… if I could be selfish, I would want the chance to try as many things as I can.
The one thing I regret most about my childhood, of growing up, and forcing myself to mature is not knowing what any of that truly meant.
What if this and that. What if I had allowed myself to make as many mistakes then, would I be here today?
We are born selfish. That’s my inherent belief. I believe that selflessness is learned and practiced, but selfishness is inherent. And that it is not something evil. It is simply a part of life, as is death, breathing, and being alive. So, if I could be selfish, as I always am, I would like to start again.
Writing alleviates my boredom.
There is something about writing that lifts my soul. I feel feelings when I write and read. I tend to enjoy my life when there are words. It’s so much different from my feelings with everything else in life. But I’ve made promises and compromises; I have previous engagements I must keep. And I feel guilty being bored of them.
I just want to write.
I want to feel again.
How does one reveal this sort of selfishness to my world that does not readily welcome it? And how does one finish what they’ve started when they’re bored?
I used to be “normal”, someone who could set aside boredom, anxiety, and displeasure. But once you recognize it, it’s a lot harder to un-see. I think knowing is the most difficult part of my journey. Knowing that I can never be that person again and knowing that I still have to live in moments of the life she used to live is the toughest thing. How do I overcome something when I no longer have the skillset needed to overcome them? Well, then again, I didn’t overcome them before. Rather, I swept them under the rug and pretended they didn’t exist.
Knowledge is power as they say— power to help me truly prevail over this boredom I am drowning in.
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