I’m struggling, but I don’t want to admit it, so I won’t. I’ll keep pushing day after day like nothing is wrong. I’ll tell you my problems and then make some lighthearted joke about how it’s “just for now.” But it’s been “just for now” for the last ten years. When does it end?
I feel like for the past ten years I’ve been living in a perpetual cycle of, “I just have to get through this right now, and one day it will end.” That “one day” has yet to come. Right now, in my head, I’m just telling myself I have to make it to December when I graduate, and then everything will calm down. I won’t have to worry about anything, and I’ll be able to live.
But I tell myself that every time, and the deadline just keeps changing—just like my surroundings do. Today I’m having a hard mental day, and then I tell myself I’ll feel better tomorrow, so I don’t need to worry about today. I totally negate the way I feel, as if today doesn’t exist and I should just live for how I’ll feel tomorrow.
And yes, I do believe that all feelings pass, but what happens when you never actually feel them? I just end up feeling bad on a different day and telling myself the same thing. If you do that enough, you start to feel nothing, because the same can be said for both sides. I could feel great tomorrow—but that too shall pass. It just feels like the good feelings don’t last as long, so I’ve ended up living in a prolonged state of numbness.
I can only do what needs to get done. I don’t get to enjoy much. I just know what has to get done, and I have no choice. God, the clock is ticking so fast, and I can’t stop or slow down. The life I’ve chosen doesn’t allow for that, so I persist.
And you can say, “Well, Yuka, why don’t you just stop?” That’s a good point—as if I haven’t thought about making a radical change in my life. But do you ever think that maybe I don’t have a choice? My master’s degree is a means to make money—not a choice driven by happiness. It’s a hurdle I need to get through to build the life I want. It’s misery I have to endure in hopes that I can earn a salary that supports the life I want.
So when you ask me to change, you’re really asking me to give up on a dream. And dreams come with hard work—sometimes a lot of it. Sometimes it’s almost a ten-year commitment, as you can see in my case. But ten years of misery for a possible fifty years of contentment is worth it to me, so I numb my feelings, hoping to get through it.
A little note: even now, I can see I’ve dulled the way I feel by justifying it with the idea that this will all end and that it’s worth it for a dream—even in my writing. Ironic, isn’t it?