Unnamed

Lately, I've been stuck in this weird, unshakable cycle. My money is running out, and I have nothing to do except scroll through social media, watching other people live their lives while I sit here doing nothing with mine. It's frustrating. I feel like I should do something, anything, to change my situation. But at the same time… I don't. It's not even that I can't—it's that I won't. Or maybe I will. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.

Life is strange. It's like a game I never agreed to play, one that throws me between extremes with no warning. One moment, I feel like I'm winning. Things are going my way, and for the first time in forever, I think maybe—just maybe—life isn't so bad. Then, out of nowhere, it all falls apart. And the worst part? It doesn't just reset to zero—it crumbles, leaving me with even less than I had before. But somehow, I always pick up the pieces, rebuild, and keep going—until it happens again.

A cycle of winning, losing, rebuilding. Over and over. It never ends. It never will end.

Right now, I think I'm at the losing and confused part of the cycle. Or that I've been stuck here forever. I can't tell anymore.

I feel distant—distant from my family, distant from society, distant from myself.

And the strangest part? I don't even know if I want to change that. A part of me does. A part of me doesn't. I hate everything, but I also love it. I crave change, yet I reject it the moment it gets close.

Today, though, I actually forced myself to step outside for a walk. It felt like an achievement, which is pathetic if you think about it. Walking? An achievement? But that's where I'm at, I guess.

The whole time, my mind wouldn't shut up. What do I look like right now? Do I walk too fast? Too slow? Do I look normal? What are people thinking when they see me? Do they even notice me? Do I want them to notice me? It was like a thousand voices talking over each other in my head, each one more exhausting than the last.

Then, I ran into some neighbors.

"Oh, Prostp! Where are you headed?"

"Nowhere, just taking a walk."

It was such a simple exchange, but it felt strange. Like I was acting. Like I was rehearsing lines for a role I wasn't sure I wanted to play.

I tried to be social. It wasn't bad. In fact, it actually felt nice. But at the same time, it felt distant. Every conversation I have with people feels like that—like I'm watching myself from the outside, like I'm just playing along.

And that's when the spiral starts.

Why am I even doing this?

Is it because it feels good?

Because it does feel good. But if it feels good, then why do I keep questioning it? If I enjoy talking to people, why don't I just… be that person? Why not quit this quiet, detached life and just be normal?

But for some reason, I always pull away.

Maybe it's because deep down, I feel like a fraud. Like I'm pretending to be someone I'm not. But if there's nothing wrong with being social, if it actually makes me feel better, then why does it feel so wrong?

I don't get it. I really don't.

I spend so much time thinking about who I really am that I don't even know anymore. Am I the quiet, distant guy who stays in his own world? Or am I the person who enjoys talking to people, even if it never feels fully real?

Or am I neither? Or both?

I wish I had an answer, but I don't. And that's the part that messes with me the most.

Maybe that's why I feel stuck. Because I don't know what version of myself is the real one. And without knowing that, how am I supposed to know what I even want?

There's this constant battle in my head. One part of me wants to be alone, to stay in my own world where nothing can touch me. The other part wants to be out there, to connect, to experience life the way I see everyone else doing it.

But no matter which part wins in the moment, I always regret it.

If I stay alone, I feel like I'm missing something.

If I put myself out there, I feel like I'm lying to myself.

Either way, I lose.

And I think that's the scariest part. The idea that maybe—just maybe—I'll never be satisfied with anything. That no matter what I do, there will always be a part of me that rejects it. That I'll always feel like I'm walking a line between two versions of myself, never fully belonging to either one.

I guess that's what they call an identity crisis. Or maybe I'm just overthinking.

Either way, I don't understand. Maybe I never will.

But I think the worst part is knowing that, even if I did understand, I probably still wouldn't change anything.

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