At times, I feel inadequate to realize myself independently, as though I’m waiting for someone to unlock what’s dormant within me. I’m paralyzed—not by the scarcity of the world, but by its boundless possibilities. The privilege of choice, of agency, is both liberating and overwhelming. It feels as though I’m slowly becoming a carcass of my own potential, squandering it as paralysis seeps into my mind and body.
Restlessness consumes me—fueled by the looming fear of running out of money and clinging to the hope that I’ll find work next week. But beneath that, it’s the absence of clarity that distorts everything, leaving me uncertain and adrift.
I am burdened by the prospect of romance—by the notion that love and connection with another might be the key to unlocking my true potential. I know I am whole as one, yet I don’t feel it. I come alive in the company of the right people, as though I’ve been defibrillated out of a rotting stasis. There’s a scarcity within me that hinders my ability to harmonize with the vast opportunities around me, as if the fullness I seek can only be found through others, when ultimately, it can only be filled from within.