most days

most days. most days you're just like any other quarter lifer, impressive track record in education and career so far, dating someone already for 6 months.

but there are the days you realize you have no idea what the fuck, why the fuck and how the fuck.

what the fuck you're doing here
why the fuck you are still doing something you don't know why you have the motivation for

and
how the fuck to get out of a mess that on the surface, isn't a mess.

that's the point. my life isn't a mess. but its somehow not full. my job, while it has its set of challenges, also leaves me with the impression that i could quit and the world would just go on the next day without noticing. my love, sweet as he is, i find myself intently looking at him, wondering if he sees me. my books just make me want to slit my fucking wrist.

it's the need to feel like im making a difference. there are many things that drive a person. sadly, this need doesn't drive me most of the time, that's why i'm doing what i'm doing.

the need to be part of something, to be useful, is entirely human. but the need to achieve greatness driven by an all-consuming need to be acknowledged and affirmed, is a plain and simple sign of insecurity. you're not sure you're good enough, so you keep doing more and more and more. and at the end, if you're lucky, you're rich, accomplished, high-flying and divorced, or your kids have grown up, life has passed you by, and you're in a deeper identity crisis than before.

or if you're unlucky, you burn out by 25 and spend the rest of your days mourning your lost glory, jadedly accept mediocrity, pressure your boyfriend into marrying you to fill the gap and spend your days tending to colicky babies.

it's time to stop this slow descent into madness. to apply the brakes before i get swallowed up in this stupid cesspool of achievement for the sake of feeding my fucking insecurities.

and find another reason for my overachieverism instead of this convenient one i've been using for so long.