Friday Morning Commute

Nothing in my childhood stands out to explain why I have these days of melancholia. Nothing in my childhood explains where this bipolar comes from. And because mental health and sexuality aren't topics that are freely discussed in my community, I don't know who has experienced my thoughts and feelings regarding the aforementioned. I feel trapped. I feel alone. I can only assume it is going into adult life and realising the pressure placed on my generation to perform and the expectations to achieve are sometimes unreachable. I feel really ambivalent about blaming the concrete jungle for the person I've become. But, I can't help but think if I was in another part of the world, or if my grandma hadn't moved from Jamaica, what would life be like? Would I be happier? Would I worry less about who is doing better than me? Would I have more direction and passion in my career at work?

You know the age old story with me by now, my thoughts are cyclic and rarely ever positive and the constant fight to wake up in the morning is a real struggle. Being so afraid to sleep that feel you'll die in your sleep that you end up just being awake. At every step you tell yourself you ain't shit and somehow ask why your day hasn't turned out spectacular. Note the expectation, not a good day, a spectacular one.

The thing about being melancholic for me is that, it isn't a depressive phase as such. I have pockets where I can lock it away. When I'm at work for instance interacting with people, or if I'm writing a new blog post. I always know what it feels like though. Being caged right behind me, tethered to my waist, attached to an explosive helium tank, talking through it's bars reminding me, I ain't shit, explosive at any minute. But it's ok, you can have fun. You never know when it's going to blow; you can't see the timer.

When I'm feeling like this, I can't be happy for anyone's achievements. I stress about everything and I want to have sex a lot. I find this difficult because I hear from others that I'm handsome, yet find it so hard to connect to people. If I'm handsome surely it shouldn't be so difficult to find someone who wants a bit of fun, right? Gosh, this is so superficial and yet I care about it so much. By any standard this is a shallow perspective to hold, of myself and everyone else. I'm constantly in between a rock and hard place. I started this blog to express all that gets tangled and confused in my mind. It is an outlet and I cared about those who read it. I wanted people to know, they aren't alone. Now, I want fame and notoriety. I want thousands and thousands of followers. I want my writing to be inspirational and life changing. I want the money and fame as if I deserve a medal for talking about age old topics. And here comes this mounting pressure and expectation again. I started this blog two months ago and I want all that goes with it a successful long standing blog after a short amount of time. Plus, my journey is my own, it's not for comparison to anyone else's. But it's ok, because it's 8:19am, I'm almost at work and I'll forget about Mr. Melancholia until I get home.