A Piece I’ve Been Too Scared To Write
The thought, or rather the question, always lives in the back of my head. Sometimes quietly, going weeks or months without making its unwelcome appearance. Sometimes, though, it penetrates through the hours of therapy and words of self-help authors and begins the destruction of my thoughts, emotions, behaviors, of me. I’ve said it out loud only twice. The first, while in Boston. The second, barely breathing, trying to maintain composure, on a phone call with my mother as I walk the street outside my new Italian apartment.“Will it always be like this?”
My voice shakes. I want the answer more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I’ve wondered if there's something wrong with me, and prayed someone would just tell me. Tell me what I’m missing. Tell me what I’m doing wrong. Tell me where I’m failing. I am instantly furious at myself for my privileged ingratitude. I’m ashamed I utter these six words to the woman who has been my lifeline for the last twenty years, her focus set on providing me with a joyful, fulfilled life.But that’s what going through days with this everpresent questioning feels like: bearing the insurmountable weight of personal failure. Things I “should” be enjoying, experiences I “should” be loving, connections I “should” be forming, all feel impossible when I can’t stop searching. For a community that feels like home, or a place I belong, or simply a reality that doesn’t feel like I’m at war, battling my own mind. Every conversation is an orchestrated dance of how-quickly-will-this-interaction-be-over. The lack of connection to everyone and everything around me floods my mind when I hear, “Sorry, remind me of your name again?” The relentless cycle makes it (almost) impossible to authentically be myself.It’s not always as intense or crippling. There are days when I’m reminded who I am, or who I was before I became consumed in another episode of obsessive introspection. Sitting in a cafe, finishing a book in one day (Bunny was my last, highly recommend.) Complimenting a stranger’s style, and sparking a conversation that extends past “thank you.” Other things begin to occupy my inner world. I remember I love watching the sun rise. A text from a crush. Receiving a compliment attached to my receipt at a dinner where I ate and journaled alone. A three hour phone call that brings back the laughter I’ve been so worried left me behind and wouldn't return.And yet, “Will it always be like this?”
It comes back, less intense or sometimes more. The possibility that everything can fall apart, that things can fade away, scares me to my core. The search, once again, might never be over.
But, I’m reminded, mostly by friends and family, that there’s no timeline on my life. There’s no due date (a challenging reality to accept as someone who has always strived for academic validation.) I can recognize life is beautiful because it’s mine, and days start to lighten, becoming opportunities for change.“Will it always be like this?”
The answer I’ve been avoiding, (...because what if I'm wrong?) NO, it won’t. And that’s terrifyingly beautiful. For twenty years, I’ve never learned to see uncertainty as exciting, until now. The only thing predictable about the future is that it’s entirely unpredictable. Through this current period of questioning, I’m reminded of how much stronger I’ve become compared to the first time I held this emotional weight. I have grown so much, into a person I am proud to be, and will continuously do so. So, what if the question stayed the same, but the perspective shifted? What if it wasn't negative when I ask,“Will it always be like this?”
