What the Actual ...?

 

Seriously, what the actual fuck is wrong with me? 

I can't get off my ass (read: won't)

I can't get out of my head (read: choose to stay stuck in here) 

I quit at the first sign of anything other than what I deluded myself into thinking things would be. 

I am mortified by the sight of myself - on the security cameras, in a reflection, in the mirror, yet I won't do what it actually takes to NOT be mortified. I won't do the work that it would take to NOT look like this anymore. 

I can be righteously indignant in the comfort of my chair here, but put me out in the wild, and I'm the frog in the shoebox, not singing a peep when others approach. 

I can watch others seemingly live all these fantastical adventures, be productive, make zillions of dollars, but I can't (read also: WON'T) do anything to try any of that shit for myself.

This is not a pity party. This is fact. This is observation of my constant state of unbeing. 

I dare say that my get up and go didn't got up and went, instead, it was never here to begin with because whatever it was that I wanted to do or tried to do did NOT meet expectations of others, and so I learned that it was just me that wasn't good enough, and so I gave up. A LONG FUCKING TIME AGO. 

I'm not stupid enough to believe that whatever I have accomplished, I did out of sheer dumb luck. I know I've worked hard. But there's not sticking power. I can get shit done - but those moments are few and fleetingly far between. 

I feel like I have zero purpose in existence. Not in a suicidal kind of way but in a realistic kind of way. I mean, seriously. I have disappeared myself from Ohio, and very few, other than my brother, even noticed or gave a shining fuck. I just don't hold space in a lot of minds. I'm easily looked over, forgotten, or just plain invisible. 

I just want to fix me. I want to fix this brain, or at least work around it, so I can do the things that I actually want to do, and not sit prone, frozen in unfounded fears. 

I don't believe this is laziness. I just can't pinpoint what it is that makes me live life as a coward. I have no problem speaking to people in public, making eye contact, starting conversations in the airport, or smiling at people. I can do public-facing customer service with the best of them. 

I just have gotten to a point where all I can think is "What does any of this really matter?" 

I would do art, but I don't even know what I want to do? Do I want to paint? Do I want to draw? Do I want to do calligraphy? Do I want to knit? Do I want to work with glass or tiles? I don't fucking know, and I can't even be bothered to try any of it for more than five minutes, so I guess I won't know. 

I'm so sick of being so uninspired. 

I'm tired of knowing what I DON'T want, but then preventing myself from getting what I DO want. 

My brain is all over the place, and I get sick of it, so I spend the majority of every day doing whatever I can do mute it. 

I'm just worn the fuck down and worn the fuck out, mostly mentally. 

I guess it's time to say FUQITOL and just do stuff, right?