Being a grown-up is a hell of a lot less fun than I expected.
I’m back writing on my laptop in my dressing gown and drinking a blackcurrent fruit shoot – mind racing a million miles an hour.
I’m trying to locate the cause or reasoning behind this nagging uneasiness I’m feeling and have yet to come to a conclusion. I’m probably embarrased and stressed out that I vommitted at work; I’m probably worried about going back to work in five or so days; I’m probably worried about my theory test and the content I need to learn by then and various other fears; And yet none seem to be the root cause.
I feel like I’m waiting to go back to school at some point and fall back into the routine of being a high-schooler. I’m waiting to be plucked from my new life as a working adult and placed back to where I truly belong, the place I was for most of my life.
Perhaps it’s being off work that is confusing me – (although this week off was desperately needed.) Maybe I’m feeling discombobulated about not following my routine as I have nowhere I need to be. My physical health is very poor; I can’t even walk to my Dad’s car without being extremely out of breath. I may stand still for hours upon hours at work, walking on even-flooring and walking quick short distances and back but these days I can’t walk down the high-street without repeatedly stopping for breath. In my entire life I have never felt this physically unfit.
Whatever the reason; I am lost and not sure where to go from here. I feel like a child playing dress-up, missing the carefree-ness of being a high-schooler (though high-school in on itself wasn’t exactly carefree) and I am scared of being given time to myself.
Food is still bothering me. Textures and hard bits in meats are causing me great discomfort and upset. My OCD is not great; I’m opting to not care about my appearance out of depression and not trying to make myself feel better by wearing my favourite clothes or accessorise.
I guess you could say I’m in limbo. I’m unsure of what to do and anticipating disaster and so are not doing anything productive or beneficial. I’m reluctant to start challenging my OCD or making myself feel better because I feel so damn tired. The idea of redecorating the house before a tornado strikes feels pointless so to speak. I’m just waiting for my tornado – and a tornado will always, always come – in a run-down shack instead of enjoying whatever time I have left in a cozy cottage so to speak.