‘kay guise. I’m depressed.
I’ve been stuck in this horrible rut for the better part of 2012 now, and I need to make a change in my life. Except then I start to wonder, do I really?
I remember what my life was like before meeting my ex. I was content. I was lonely, but I was content. I didn’t mind being all alone in my apartment. I didn’t mind putzing and twiddling and lazy evenings and pizza night. That’s who I’ve been my whole life. Pry myself out of bed before sunrise, game all day, parouse the internet, watch a movie in bed, pass out, rinse and repeat. What changed? Why can’t I do that anymore?
To be honest, I never found much more than that out of my ex. He never took me anywhere or acknowledged me publicly. We stayed in my apartment and did those very things day in and day out. But I was happy.
I went home this summer after he left me. Maybe I’m just a baby, but I was devastated. Suddenly I realized just how alone I was in this city and I couldn’t stand to be around the memories of him any longer. I retreated. I paid rent on this stupid apartment for 2 months without being in it once.
I came back to dead plants. Empty towel racks and tooth brush holders. Used blankets and an unkempt bed smothered in his lingering scent. A dirty and depraved flower vase that only months prior had been overflowing with fragrant placeholders of a man’s unassuming affection.
I came home to an apartment rife with the stale, musky penchant of bitter lonliness.
I got kittens.
If nothing else, my apartment now smells of dander and soiled litter. And I love my kittens. They’re good company when company is what they seek. But I’m still void of any semblance of purpose in my life. I love that I have something to be responsible for now, but to what extent does that really feed my need to be needed?
I feel like I’m searching for something in life that I already have. “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”–I remember the past. I remember everything. So then why am I condemning myself?