Stripped

I took a look around me today and realized I didn’t recognize a single fucking thing about my life.

The car I’ve been driving is not mine. The couch that I woke up on was not mine. The house that I woke up in is not mine. The folks feeding my goats breakfast each morning is not me. The bed my cats are curled up in each night is not mine. I was sitting in my law office, pretending to have my shit together, while I was wearing the same pants I’d slept in the night before.

“You’re not homeless,” Tim poked at his fajitas over lunch last week. “You’re just houseless.”
I wish I could pretend to be as nonchalant about it as he was. I wish I could pretend I wasn’t experiencing one of the hardest times in my life. I wish I could pretend like I wasn’t spending every second of the day imagining how I could have handled things differently in the past to not be in the situation I currently am. I wish I could pretend I wasn’t constantly contemplating forgiving the people that do not deserve it.

Everyone around me has been having a shit time lately, but I can’t help but to wish I was facing their problems instead. There’s something slightly comical and wildly angering about listening to someone complain about the things you’d kill to have.

Maybe it’s jealousy. Maybe it’s lack of accountability. Maybe I haven’t been tough enough on myself.

I’ve been living in someone else’s head, it seems.

“You’re acting self destructively,” Max told me this morning after I’d explained my weekend, right before I’d quickly tried to change the subject.
“Yeah,” I rolled my eyes, “I fucking know that.”
He didn’t let a moment pass before he asked, “SO WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?”

I took a look around me today and reazlied I didn’t recognize a single thing about my life.

I don’t recognize myself. I don’t recognize my thoughts. I dont recognize my voice. I don’t recognize my reflection. I don’t recognize my behavior.

“It’s only after we’ve lost everything, that we’re free to do anything.”
Chuck Palahniuk