Losing All Hope In Northern Ireland And Coming Through The Other Side.
In the winter of last year my spirit was broken. It wasn’t so much any one thing. The journey into work each morning was insufferable. I’d traveled that same route for 10 fucking years.
It wasn’t just the commute into work at the time, it was everything.
For my last 2 months of in Northern Ireland I’d be constantly on the verge of panic attacks thinking that I wouldn’t be able to live there for the rest of the week let alone the rest of my life.
Similarly I couldn’t make it until 10am most mornings in work without going to the toilet where I’d sit on the seat with my head in my hands wondering how the fuck it came to this.
I felt guilty as hell for hating a job that I should have loved. I regretted resigning from a position that I did love for this.
I’d fucked everything up beyond repair and I only had myself to blame for being weak and ungrateful.
Most of all, I cursed myself for not having the guts to follow my heart and my dreams and move to England.
I just didn’t know what the hell to do.
It’s a lonely place when you’re despondent and have no answers. Who do you go to? What do you say? How do you say it? When do you say it?
It’s terrifying when you only have the past for reference when it comes to thinking about your future, especially if your past hasn’t been great. Fortunately with all of the running and travelling I’ve done over the past years I still had some hope that my life could turn out well.
I was worried that the last of that hope was gonna soon extinguish.
Then what would I have? A chip on my shoulder for the rest of my life.
I was frightened by the thoughts in my head. I wanted to retreat within myself and never talk again. I started cursing myself for ever having hope that my life could be different from the others I saw around me.
It’s not that I wanted to be different for the sake of being different. I just didn’t want to be married. I didn’t want to die in the same estate I was born in. I didn’t want a house, a mortgage, kids, to be tied in fucking chains for eternity+1.
I wanted to build a life that was worth living.
I didn’t give a shit what others thought about that life or my dreams. I fucking hated those who would label me a freak mainly because their lives were so incredibly fucking dull that it hurt to acknowledge them let alone talk to them.
I wanted to find my own bliss. I wanted to recapture that August morning in Munich when I’d checked out of my hotel, had the sun at my back and was heading to Zurich alone with my backpack on. The possibilities were endless.
And then one morning in January all my hope had died.
But so had my fear.
I left the job, came up with the idea of writing my book full time for a few months and then eventually went through with the move to London.
Sometimes letting go of hope can be pretty fucking healthy. If there is no hope in your current situation, then you have the power to actually do something positive to change it even if it seems really fucking scary at the time.
P.S : I ran 8 miles today. My legs moved..