It is fear, I know. I am familiar with its soft grip upon my future. Its hushing commentary to my past. I am familiar with it because I still remember the same heaviness from three years ago when I had to leave a town devoid of choice. I remember it because it was the first time that joy felt like a dusty dry rose left forgotten in the cold corner of a room. A touch will shed it to crippled petals on the floor.
When I left the town, I thought that I will have a better chance of restarting clean. An open road that will take me anywhere. Being a self professed optimist, I did not think that a simple location change will affect the course of my life, but it did. I gave up the pursuit of passion and let people took the better out of me. By the time I walked out of a drawn out relationship, I was left empty and unable to move forward. It was crippling what the city did to me, and I hate myself for it.
I mentioned in the previous post that I am restarting from point zero. But to be honest, I have no willingness to start over. I am tired of figuring things out. I cannot see the exciting adventures this new chapter have for me. I refuse to be sucked in again to its empty promises of finding the thing. I'm like a broken record, coming back to the same position again and again. Never getting to play my music, never fulfilling its purpose.
Maybe the thing was never meant to be found because the thing never exist. Or maybe the thing was never one thing, maybe it's an accumulation of a bunch of things. Maybe it's true, maybe it's not. I am so tired of maybes. Might as well blame it on the Maybellines.
This is what an existential crisis feels like. Welcome to the eve of your quarter life, Johanna. Embrace it.