Piledriver Waltz

I’ve been unhappy.

It did take me quite a while to unravel this current state of mind I have been on for the past couple of months, till I was physically torn apart. It was not the excruciatingly painful headache that led me to spin senseless major time, or even the perpetual urge to vomit which forced me to expel every tiny bit of matter within my stomach, that terrified me. It was more about this particular apprehension regarding a chronic sense of dreadful aching underneath my own consciousness, which inevitably surfaced up in a horrible fashion defeating my soma horrendously, that actually set my teeth on edge.

As I was lying upon my bed with my pulse weakening slowly as a sign of dehydration creeping over my body, I couldn’t help not to fathom every factor that culminated to this. Why am I constantly feeling wretched?

Is it because of the fact that I currently live miles away from my family, friends, and lover, and the ongoing infamous pandemic prevents us to gather for an indecisive amount of time?

Is it the kind of misery Dostoyevsky once stated in one of his books written more than a decade ago? — “You sensed that you should be following a different path, a more ambitious one, you felt that you were destined for other things but you had no idea how to achieve them and in your misery you began to hate everything around you.”

Is it due to the growing exhaustion from repetitively listening to others venting about life, yet only receiving nothing but the contrary treatment in return, that I even deemed it difficult to find the proper pair of ear to treat me accordingly?

I desperately wanted to cry for this sensation of continuous spinning was extremely agonising that I was not even capable to open my eyes. I was trembling in fear wondering of how chaotic shits must be inside my head that I finally ended up here. In spite of my failed attempt to untangle the crumpled strand, I shut everything instead and let it rot beneath my conscious mind. How foolish I was to assume that things might magically perish in a swap. I thought denying your emotion and fear was a symbol of strength.

I spent two nights in the hospital after that.

Mom decided to come by and accompany me in town for the rest of the week. Her presence instantly had this relieving effect upon my days. Having mom drop me off to work and a deep-talk session with her till 4 a.m in the morning, was somehow necessary to put my mind at ease. My appetite was even recovering from its long hiatus, that I gained one pound in a week.

I told her everything, how I shut people off my radar because I was simply a loser who could not help not to feel small about myself around these amazing individuals, how I hated myself for being an unambitious person yet still getting anxious every time I perceived others being ahead of me in terms of career and life, how comparing always wounds me and my inability to be content with myself only inflicted more pain, and how lonely my life was in this little town.

“Because you aim for the kind of happiness most are not looking for,” she answered.

“And, the key was to not give a damn about others.”

I contemplated every word my mom said over the next days, hoping that it might create a concrete sense of enlightenment as I truly applied them in reality. Headache, happiness, and whatnots.