After maybe literal months of procrastinating, I finally took the time out today to get my head shaved. And it feels so good.
There perhaps is more reason this time than the throwaway answers like "procrastination" and "depression". I've been super busy and super tired with work, and because of that, I've been severely behind on several personal aspects of my life, writing being the prime example. I even have a full post in the works explaining exactly why and how, but... it's a mess. My mind is in a mess and my Blogger dashboard is just a small representation of that. I have so many things to write, I feel so much. So many things important to me have been happening. I try to take time off work to write them all down. But they're all so huge that it takes more than one writing session to write, and then it's back to like, a straight six day work week for me with no time or energy for anything else in my life. I feel an incredible amount of pressure to provide for myself, for my family, and to prove my own worth as a person to myself, and money seems the easiest, most straightforward quantifier for that, because I haven't anything else like looks, talent, charisma, or what have you. I even went as far as to say in that as of yet incomplete post, that nothing else feels real to me other than money nowadays.
After a hard three days at work, I think Mondays have become the de-facto off day for me in my 6 day work week, voluntarily or otherwise. I still feel a nagging feeling to work today, simply because nothing else feels real to me, not even writing. But I did tell myself to finally go get a haircut today because my bed hair is beyond annoying each morning, and I don't want to have to deal with that shit every morning before working, and so I begrudgingly went. I felt mentally wiped out, especially when I was out and about on my own, in a mall. I just felt like shit for no apparent reason, and I think my time with my therapist has made me more readily accept these bouts of "randomly feeling like shit" as normal, because he believes I have depression when I have trouble convincing myself that I do. I loathed every moment I was out there. It felt like a chore, like I had to take time out of my busy schedule to do something for a stupid kid I couldn't give two shits about if he died the next instant, that I never wanted. I began to overthink. All sorts of bad thoughts came back to me. Thoughts that I hadn't had for quite a while, because I've been too busy working, too busy driving, to give those thoughts any space to fester. But they will always be there. At this point, I almost feel like... no, I'm certain of it. I'm just running away from my personal problems, using work, money, and "adulting" as a palatable façade. I suppose that too, is a prerequisite skill of being an adult: making something that's shit look not like shit. That, and selling your soul to a large corporation in bid to survive and eke out a living.
Sometimes I think life ought to be more than this, but it's a scary thought. Scary, and impractical. At some point, I've settled for simply being alive, to continue this meaningless cycle of suffering. I wouldn't know how to answer to the me from the past few years struggling with existential questions like that. But it's not my job to answer to him. Right?
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