I went down this rabbit hole called the existential crisis.
I want to somehow make a difference, leave an impact, be someone that inspires people and lift them up, but how can I do that when I don’t even pick up the pen anymore? When writing is the only thing I know I do best, how can I do that without it? How can I do that when I feel like no one’s listening anymore? I must have lost my voice somewhere, right?
How can I do that when every time I try to write or say anything, I feel like an impostor? I mean every word, but I can’t make it come alive. How can I do that when I am full of excuses? How can I do that when I lack hard work and bad at time management? I like my work, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes, I’m thinking if I can drop it so I can fill my head with something that actually lights up something in me? But this something doesn’t pay the bills. And if I can’t even do my job right most of the time, how can I even stand on my own and build my own empire?
I want to do great things. Actually, no. Even these simple, little things. I know I have the heart to do it. I have intentions. I have passion. But why can’t I fully execute it? They are all so good in my head, but reality looks so different.
I need a system, but my whole being is fucked up. I reset, do a good job a couple of days then just relapse again. I get excited, sometimes way too excited, and then something comes up that crashes down everything. Am I that fragile? But a part of me tells me I am strong. But, why? God, why does it look so different? Why can’t I align things? Why can’t I find the balance?
I am tired of going through extreme highs and lows.
A friend told me that if there’s one thing that makes me better (than the me I was a year ago), I should continue doing it. I am so much better than 3 years ago when I hit rock bottom. But why there are days that I feel like I am just going deeper? Can it be any deeper than this?
I am so much better than the last 3 years where all I did was cry my way through the day and cry myself more to sleep every night. But, why?
Why do I still feel so lost?
— an excerpt from my journal.
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