Lately, I keep coming across those types of TikToks where people realise they’re doing the same thing every day. The routine. Maybe even working towards their next goal. And then it hits—you realise there is no end destination. Even chasing a goal becomes something that drives you mad, because once you reach it, you’re already onto the next.
And it made me think—what if that’s the point? That there is no final destination. Of course, there’s death. But what scares me is realising I feel like I’m just waiting around for it. Worse, that I’m racing towards it.
It also hit me that maybe there’s no magical state where you finally feel happy and at peace. And if that’s true, then what am I even doing? I’ve realised how unhappy I am right now, and I’d do anything to escape it. But what is the “now” that I’m running from?
It’s the pain in my body. The hormonal mood swings. The years of buried trauma that I’ve never let myself feel. Of course I want to run. That’s what my brain has been wired to do since I was a child. The “now” back then was abusive parents. So I did everything I could to grow up fast, to earn my own money, to build my own safety. I pushed myself to the edge. I was devastated by my GCSE results, so I threw myself into A-levels, then uni. That degree nearly killed me—figuratively—but I got it. I got the respected graduate job, the title, the salary.
And now I see it clearly. Of course I’m trained to run from the present. Because the present has always felt unsafe.
But I’m writing this down so I can come back to it. So I can remind myself. And hold myself accountable.
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