This morning, I got up to do what I had to do. When I got home, I went back to bed. When I opened my eyes again, it was 6 p.m.
At 7:30 p.m., I could have gone back to bed.
I had slept well the night before, though. But yesterday, I spent the day dealing with physical discomfort that completely drained me. This morning, I felt like I weighed 30 tons. Morale at rock bottom, no desire to do anything.
And it didn’t take much for the little negative things that happened during the day to become too much.
It’s been two years since I stopped working because of my mental health. Two years of ups and downs, anxiety, fatigue, and days when I wonder how I’m ever going to get my life back on track.
Two years of wandering and sinking deeper.
I know full well that, from the outside, some people might call it laziness. A guy who doesn’t work, sleeps all day, doesn’t apply for jobs. It’s easy to form an opinion when you only know that part of it.
But for me, it’s distress tolerance.
When it gets too heavy, I need to silence my pain. Some people drink, do drugs, destroy themselves, or destroy others.
Me, I go to bed.
I breathe calmly. I close my eyes and try to imagine a life that would make me feel good.
A close-knit family. Friends. My small business. Work. Hobbies. Projects. Things to accomplish, and the satisfaction of succeeding a little in all of it.
Often, it calms me down and I end up falling asleep. Sometimes, I wake up with a grimace. Other times, the thoughts go around in circles until they keep me awake for hours.
Because eventually, I always come back to the same reality: I’m completely discouraged by this shitty life.
And yet, I know what I’m capable of.
It’s probably one of the most frustrating things about all this.
For a good part of my life, I felt like people took me for an idiot. An incompetent. Someone who was never really good enough.
People close to me, coworkers, bosses... far too often, I felt like they preferred to put me down rather than believe in me. Like they were trying to crush my dreams, my convictions, or giving others the credit for work I had done.
After a while, it wears you down.
But I’ve also known something else.
I was self-employed. And that experience made me understand that what I’d been led to believe about myself for years wasn’t necessarily true.
People thanked me for my work, my listening skills, my ability to manage things. I could make my own decisions, deal with constraints, find solutions, and see the concrete results of my efforts.
I had freedom, independence and, above all, a sense of accomplishment.
It’s been almost ten years, and I still miss that time.
Today, when I look at job postings, I can’t see myself in any of them. Anxiety blocks me, and the idea of going back into an environment where I could once again be the butt of the joke doesn’t appeal to me at all.
I’m no longer willing to accept just anything simply to earn a paycheque.
The paycheque, to me, is secondary.
I want to feel useful. To have responsibilities, a mission, concrete goals. To be able to put my efforts into something and see that they’re actually useful for something.
I love being on the road.
And when I imagine being given an assignment, taking my vehicle, heading somewhere, seeing the scenery, completing the work I was entrusted with, and coming back with the satisfaction of having done something with my day... honestly, I’d be super happy.
It’s still kind of strange.
I can spend an entire day in bed, with no desire, no motivation, feeling like nothing in my life makes sense. But I’m still capable of feeling enthusiastic when I imagine a situation where I could regain my independence.
So no, I don’t think I’ve lost all my ambitions.
I lack the means. I don’t know exactly what to get back into, what to offer, or to whom. I’m looking for something concrete to hold onto, some leverage that could finally let me start moving forward again.
And while I’m looking, the days go by.
I feel useless. Unaccomplished. And it frustrates me because I sincerely believe I have enormous potential in the right conditions.
I’m not asking anyone to do things for me.
I’d simply like, for once, for someone to lend me a hand to help me succeed instead of tying a ball and chain to my foot to make me sink lower and lower.
And when I talk about succeeding, I’m not just talking about work or money.
I’m talking about fulfilling myself in several areas of my life.
Having friends, a social life, people to share something with. Projects, hobbies, moments that feel good. Being proud of what I accomplish professionally, but also having a life outside of that.
I’m a human being, after all. And normally, human beings have a social life.
Me, today, I feel like I’m missing out on all of that.
I wouldn’t wish my current life even on my worst enemy.
I’m not saying that to get pity. It’s simply how I feel.
I’m exhausted from having pushed myself so hard in life for so few results in my favour. Exhausted from constantly feeling judged, misunderstood, underestimated. Exhausted from knowing I still have something to offer without being able to find where or how.
And yes, little by little, I’m losing hope.
But I’m holding on nonetheless.
Even when I’m really at my lowest, there’s still something in me that refuses to completely let go. A part of me that knows what I’m capable of and keeps looking for a way to get back to a life that suits me.
Tonight, instead of keeping all this bottled up, I started talking and writing. With artificial intelligence, yes.
It may seem strange, but it did me good.
I was able to get out raw, difficult, sometimes contradictory things. And by putting them into words, I was able to see a little more clearly what’s going on in my head.
It didn’t solve anything. I didn’t find work, I didn’t get my social life back, and I still don’t know how to get back into business for myself.
But at least I managed to communicate how I feel.
And if someone reads this, I’m not asking them to pity me, advise me, or tell me what I should do.
I’m simply asking them to read.
Without judgment.
Because behind what may look like laziness, a lack of willpower, or someone who does nothing with their life, there is sometimes a person who is fighting internally far more than anyone could imagine.
I still know what I’m capable of.
I just want the chance to live it again.
Because I’m still capable.
I’m just fucking worn out.