It just occurred to me that the only thing I excel at is sitting on my ass doing absolutely nothing. Quite an epiphany no? It sure as hell doesn't make me feel any better about myself. I remember one time I put up a sign that said "Whatever you do, be enthusiastic about it". It still hangs proudly on my door, ignored consistently, but on my door nonetheless. And as time makes its mark on that sign everyday, I lose enthusiasm for just about everything. Even my clarinet, which I used to treat like a lover, has become an ex-girlfriend whom I no longer wish to see. When I play it, I'm not playing music. I'm just blowing notes.
What is up with me these days? I find myself wishing to go back to the times when I was always eager to do something, whether it be helping out mom in the kitchen or doing a science project. I remember in fourth grade I formed a newspaper club and I was editor-in-chief. I remember we published nonsensical articles about fat people overeating themselves to self-combustion and President Bush's illicit affair with his secretary of State. The news in those papers were completely phony, but we sure had a blast writing them. And the best part was handing them out to the other kids who would read the funny stories and have a big laugh. And everyone would be happy from the laughter and the joy. I also remember the countless journals and diaries that I filled with stories and squiggly little drawings. I let my creativity run rampant in those brightly colored notebooks and had to keep a sharp look out on mom, who'd tried to take a peak into one of my entries whenever possible. I remember in those days, I was a bright, intelligent, and actually quite a nice little boy.
Take a look at me now "Ew, what happened to you?" you say. Quite right. Just what the hell happened to me? I grew up. That's what happened. I grew the hell up. And in the process I lost interest in everything that was dear to me. I abandoned drawing, I abandoned sports, I abandoned writing, I abandoned music, and I abandoned myself. Frankly, I don't have a personality. I'm just a mixture of imitations of people that I want to be.
Am I burning out? Maybe. I'm not sure. But I'd rather burn out than lose myself like this. I have absolutely no idea where I'm going nor where I want to be. I have no idea what I'm capable of nor do I know what I want to get out of life. Everything I say is either in the past tense or the future tense. But I am never able to determine exactly what I am doing in the present.
This isn't a case of low-self esteem. This is reality knocking on my back door. I'm no longer a child but I have yet to become an adult. And the idea of assuming full responsibility for myself sometimes scares the bejesus out of me.
