Ever since I have moved to Tokyo, I keep telling myself that I will go back home. Soon. My friends and family keep asking me when I come back. Soon. This is just a game, to see how far I would come, and then pack my bags again. I’ve done that all my life, because I could never sit still. I get bored easily; I’d rather discover the unknown. My curiosity and brave attitude have always rewarded me with new friendships and everlasting memories. As long as I have my freedom, I would soar, drift away.
This is an exception, because I have been staying longer than I’d thought. It was a gamble, I made a pact with the devil, and right now I am surprisingly on the winning side. I started to enjoy my victories and the life I’d built here, and then the dark demon “isolation” invaded my space and unveiled the mist.
My body is exhausted which means that I am not sleeping, eating well. Only a couple of times I’ve experienced this sort of symptoms. After my first break up with him, after dad passed away, during the end stage of my last job and after the last break up with him.
I dealt with the insomnia by seeking attention from the opposite sex and showering myself with compliments so I felt my worth, and then decided which way I would go. This time I am not looking for physical attention, but I do try to negotiate with myself which direction I’m heading to.
The real reason that I haven’t made a decision whether to stay or leave is that I am using the same coping mechanism over and over again: Coloring my illusions and blinding my sight. I reuse the words as evils, demons, nightmares; aren’t that just my reflection? That little spark in life that reminds me what I was doing here in this Japanese capital is gone. For him? For myself? For my CV? I can’t find the loophole.
When everything is gone, what are the essentials? What is left that makes me keep going?
The short answer should be: Me, myself and I.
The current answer is: Hope.
I keep reshaping the empty spaces in my illusions so I can go in circles. I still have that little hope that everything will turn out the same as before, but in fact my dream has diminished long time ago. I simply can’t accept that I’m the one who is going to lose the race.
“Don’t come back with questions. Stay there till you have all the answers. You remember, you either want to be madly in love or truly heartbroken.”
On top of that, my concentration, inspiration and motivation are all spiraling down. All I’m doing is fighting with my past and pride. Instead of asking for help, care and love, I muscle my way through this endless broken tape by myself.
I’m fighting all sorts of battles:
Keeping the company alive, keeping myself alive.
I can’t find the balance.
How many times have I read that I need to be the champion of my own life, that I should love myself before other can love me? That I have so much love to give, and why not give it to yourself first?