I don’t know how much more pathetic I can get. I’ve always romanticized my life and treated it like a film. In that sense, every activity I’ve ever done has felt performative. But after recently letting go of this pretence, I’ve become uninterested in my own being. All of my achievements have been made out of pure superficiality in my will to build an interesting fictional character, rather than out of my own ambition.
This realization has been both a curse and a blessing, because it has made me both more humble and more regretful about my past. Indeed, I could be a little more humble, given my skyscraper ego, but I could also use a lot less hostility towards me, which said ego shields me from. I felt a similar way exactly five years ago when I was 20, but then I had the chance to utilize the pandemic by staying home to introspect. I managed to temporarily fix most of my issues and spent the following three years in a perfect bliss.
However, it does make me feel a little melodramatic and I resort to disassociating by going into my happy memories, where I have the opportunity to not only relive them, but to also analyse myself, my mood and how I got there. Admittingly, it’s out of my power to change myself this time. I need to change my environment.
My current situation is comparable to a solar eclipse: it seems that there’s not much I can do to fix it, other than shine a light on my problems one by one, because I’ll get to deal with them altogether once darkness retreats. Most importantly, it will make me appreciate sunshine a lot more.
TOMMY EXPLORES THE WORLD 