Life as an endless loop

My life feels as if it transformed into an endless loop, an eternal day which never ends and never starts, yet IS just there for no reason. It’s been 56 days since the day I came back home, but at the same time does not feel longer than a single weekend.

I feel completely defeated, psychologically devastated and ruined. As if all my dreams crumbled down and my life crashed right in front of my eyes, me being unable to lift a finger and try to hold it together. Now that I am here, back in my teenage room, sitting at my school desk, sleeping in the bed I last slept in 6 years ago, and before that when I was in high school, where I voluntarily locked myself up for absolutely no desire to ever go out, I just miss – life. I do not even feel as if anything is happening outside my room, let alone I am even alive.

Every day feels the same: wake up with great difficulty, check work, turn to the other side and attempt to get up in the next hour or two, run around doing nothing, waste time, try keeping up with the new programming course if possible, if not – whatever, lie on the bed, text somebody, scroll through YT, cringe at the thought of working, be overwhelmed with mild anxiety attacks once I realize how clueless I am when it comes to my new job, feel guilt and remorse for not doing a thing, go to bed, being unable to fall asleep for hours, try falling asleep with pills if not even two hours later I drift into the land of dreams – now not even two are enough; and tomorrow is on a new repeat, with variations including taking mom to go grocery shopping or attending online lessons.

I haven’t even found the time, the interest, the motivation, or room, to unpack the mountain of things I brought back home from the city – the room where I dumped all this is crammed with 20 suitcases’ load of all my belongings still thrown on the bed and the desk, or in the suitcases just aimlessly lying on the floor. Now that I think about the weather, and the clothing, and the organization I used to have, I have no idea where are all the clothes I need for this November weather, as they are scattered all over my wardrobe, my bed drawers, the walk-in closet shelves and boxes, the other room. Before I moved out, there were 11 garbage bags of my clothes, but in the meanwhile I additionally accumulated at least half of that extra, mostly in active wear, sports equipment, adult-like formal garments and some everyday items. While I used to live in two places, I had to have it all neat and tidy – I was regularly using it. Now that everything is here at one place, I see no need to know it. I do not even go anywhere, let alone dress up, so what’s the point of organizing?

I miss my karate lessons, my club, my kata team, my peers, my sensei. I miss the feeling of getting ready for the lesson, the time required to gather all the equipment, starting from the belt hanging on the door, then the dry clothing for after the lesson, then the kimono, and my water bottle. I miss who I am while I stroll to the dojo, and the weight of my bag pressing against my shoulder. I miss looking at my toes while walking in the rain. Few days ago I texted the sensei, and his response made me so immensely sad, because they miss me so enormously much, and they hope to see me again in our lessons. I missed the European championship in Skopje, Macedonia, two weeks ago. I would have gone there.

So that is one of the most painful parts. The city may have rejected me, but I feel most sorry for the probability of never going back to the club and to those lessons. The chances are high I might never go back. It hurts, because that was what used to keep me in one place throughout the last six years, my refuge, my consolation, my inspiration, my strength, my safe haven in all the problems, all the breakups, the stress, the good and the bad. Made me feel like I was the person I was meant to be. That was the life I had in me, but the life which is now gone. And that is the life I miss the most.