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Tugging My Hand

May 06, 2020

Who does a life belong to? Who has the right to make decisions about the future of that person’s life and their future experiences?
I know that my life belongs to me. Anyone who you asked would say that, and probably recommend you to a psychiatrist on top of that. But you aren’t the only centering point for the compass. Everyone in your life is one, too.
Even the smallest decision may anger someone whose opinions you rely on. There are decisions to make, every single day. The pressure is intense, crushing me. I don’t want to disappoint anyone, but I also want my life to belong to me. Without guidance, I fall apart, but I am also desperate for it. I don’t know what to do about this. What I want, what is expected. Those expectations keep me from falling apart, but I also want to know what would happen if I had control of my life.
Would I be better?
Would I be worse?

I don’t know the answer. I want to find out why my life is going to be this. I want to find out how I can feel that my life belongs to me, without shoving anyone away. Big, dramatic gestures were never my kind of experience. The small ones are what make me feel like the control is not really even in my hands. Perhaps it’s just that I feel helpless, feel like my life doesn’t really belong to me; I know that I have control. I can’t see it, though, because everything keeps on going at the same speed. That same speed, the pace that gives the feeling of staring out the window of a bullet train. My hand is being guided, because I don’t have control over my life now. That big, unseeable thing does. Call it fate, or call it circumstance; I don’t know if it even matters what it’s called.
I just don’t want to feel like I have no control over what will happen.

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