The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Me)
“I am always sad, I think. Perhaps this signifies that I am not sad at all, because sadness is something lower than your normal disposition, and I am always the same thing. Perhaps I am the only person in the world, then, who never becomes sad. Perhaps I am lucky.”
— Jonathan Safran Foer (Everything Is Illuminated)
I close my eyes and I feel it. I feel the weight of every decision I’ve ever made, every decision I will ever make, every decision I was too afraid to make. These choices pile up. They bury deep into my chest forming little holes where the hope escapes and the sorrow fills its place. Every day the decisions get a little heavier, a little sadder, a little more futile. Some days the weight is so heavy I can’t breathe. I gasp for air and when I do I swallow some of the sorrow. With each breath it fills my lungs. I am drowning from the inside.
Each night I go to bed a little heavier, more defeated. It’s as though I am a shell of myself and I watch this new version of me fall asleep. And each morning I awake, back in my body, convincing myself that this day will be the day it changes. Yet, every night I am outside myself reliving each choice as it settles in its new home ontop of the others.
Each day I try. I try to be a better version of what I’ve become. Sometimes I close my eyes and I picture myself finally saying all the things I’ve never said. I picture throwing printers out of windows or yelling at shitty clients. Some days I picture finally saying it all and imagining that this is all it will take. I imagine that if I could just stop internalizing everything I could finally start breathing. I open my eyes and remember I am too scared to do anything but build walls. I’ve built so many walls that the big bad wolf would need his entire pack to huff and puff his way in.
For now, I pretend. I smile and tell jokes and listen intently to other people living their lives. I do everything I can to make them happy. I do this while adding more bricks to my wall. The only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad.
I’m fine…
Really.
