Just some thoughts that were gnawing at my brain last week ... I was going to delete it, but what the hell, it's my journal. This is my life.
Do you know what I hate? I hate that I’m a nice person. I hate that it has taken me decades to find my voice. I hate that I too quickly put myself out for the sake of other people, when they don’t even know that I’m doing it. And that’s not their fault. That’s mine. It’s not about them … it’s about me. How could they know if I never tell them. And I’m not a martyr either. And I hate that this has been a part of who I am as long as I can remember. So when faced with “keeping people happy” over “I think I might have a problem” I default to keeping the people around me happy. That’s my problem.
I hate sticking out. I hate being different. That is one of my fundamental fears. And yet here I am. I stick out.
I think it is profoundly more disappointing to be so close to your goal, and yet come to the realisation that you will never quite reach it, than being hundreds or possibly thousands of miles from your goal and never knowing the pain of that journey.
“They lead me to water, but they won’t let me drink” – Chariots of Fire (Harold Abrams)
If I had a choice, I would NOT have travelled this journey. I think primarily because there is no “pot of gold” here. There is the general vicinity of “the end of the rainbow”, but that’s it. If you get too close, it moves away.
And I am not sure I want to be “this person”. I wonder if this is me. I mean, I don’t like sticking out, I love my comfort zone, and don’t like moving outside it, and yet this condition has forced my hand. I am forced to move out of what I know. And I don’t want to be forced to do something like this.
This isn’t like shooting for the moon, or running in a race. This is a fight for survival. And yet in my running, in my travelling to the moon, I know it’s not mine to have. I know I won’t come first. There will be no medal at the end of this, not like other people run for. There is only survival. That’s it. And I can’t say necessarily that I have it within me to want to survive this. Decades of this. I don’t think that I do.
Can you blame someone for wanting to give up?