It’s a funny thing… when I was younger, I used to stay up at night with flashes of inspiration; whether it was design work and specific projects I was working on, or music, some lyric or piece I was suddenly motivated to write. Now I’m kept up at nights by reminders of my own stupidity and just how much a failure I have become.
I’m so frustrated to be such an idiot. All the mistakes I’ve made, all the people I’ve hurt or have hurt me. I stay up at nights lamenting my failures as a father, my shortcomings as a boyfriend, all the seemingly wasted years I should’ve been in school or applying myself in productive ways. All the stress, all the anxiety I suffer is my own fault, and my own doing, and it doesn’t – it can’t – relieve the nausea, the constant pain in my gut.
Where is my head? Where is my heart? Why did I have such a better hold on myself eight and ten years ago than I do now? I fear more as more as time goes by that I’m simply reverting to the practice of pretending to be okay around others.