Where do I even begin with this story?
It was never my intention to move back in. Nor is it my intention to stay for that long. But I fear that I will.
I fear getting complacent. I fear that I will never be able to move out as there is just no drive.
Living with my parents is also strange. I have never been with them for this long since I left Adelaide 6 years ago. The longest period of time would have been a week. Maximum.
It's now been a month.
Even then I never really lived with both of them. Mum was often away in HK. Dad was church a lot of the time.
Adelaide is a small city. The people are relaxed. Too relaxed, even. The people that I hang out with have never lived by themselves. Have never had to worry about not making rent. Or not having a place to live.
Many of them are teenagers or younger. They follow the trajectory of graduate, get a job (or not), find a partner, get married and have kids.
And I feel like a loser for coming back. My ego has been severely bruised. Who am I anymore? There is nothing exciting about where I live. Nothing exciting about what I do - which is nothing.
Oh did I not tell you? I quit my job, right before coronavirus decided to take over the planet.
I still wish I hadn't quit. The loss of all the relationships. The daily connections. Just the ability to instant message someone at work to complain.
I miss it.
And I hate myself for giving it up. Because I didn't listen to HR to get a psychologist before calling my parents. Relying on their promises that things would get better.
Relying on anything to make me feel better because I no longer could make myself feel better.
The new things always fade. In the end, I am still me. Unworthy. Lost.
I feel so lost.
I also don't like posting things where people can see me and ask me about it. I don't want to talk about my feelings with you in person. Give me space and I'll talk to you about it later. Not while the emotions are still raw. Not when I haven't finished processing them.
Instagram gave me the opportunity to be less self-conscious about myself. Because I learned to not care about what other people thought of me.
I am also no longer objective. I no longer care about what makes other people happy. Have I been burnt? Years of conditioning, and now it's gone.
I just don't know who I am anymore.
There are no stories in my head. When I listen to my music I will cry. And I cannot even cry properly without someone coming in to tell me not to cry.
