Sometimes When I’m Alone

Long stretches of idle time abolish my enthusiasm. It is the fuel that is meant to continually burn. In my case, a spark is not easy to come by, and even less likely to ignite out of thin air.

I am a pensive man, and so the majority of my day is stretched into long sessions of silence and thought: stories, images, videos, memories. 

Every day I tell myself to sit and focus as if nothing else matters; as if everything I love will die if I don’t. Perhaps if I lived this way, I could make something out of myself. A better man. A better human. 

If only I could sit my ass down for long enough. 

Wishful thinking. 

Whatever it is that I don’t want to do, I do. And I do it so often that I’m not entirely sure that I don’t want to do it. 

I know well enough the distractions that gain on me, I have considered them all. And truthfully, it’s all on me. Because I’m an easy target; too often I indulge in idle time. 

I can sit and write a plan one day, and it can be a very good plan by my standards, and still the next day I will hate it. I will hate ever wasting my time strategizing over this stupid plan. 

Rationalizing my disgust for this once beautiful plan is my favorite part. I get lost in the unending reasons why I should abandon everything, why none of it makes sense anyway, why I was wrong the moment I sat down. 

After a while, after many rejections, after repeating my self-resentment even in my sleep, it becomes a place of frequent visits, a place of comfort. I know what’s next, and because of this, it’s harder to fail again. 


And then, like yesterday, I try the same shit to see if maybe this time it will work. 

Wherever I look, distractions arise. Like sea monsters. A fucking tragedy. I attempt an escape. Fucking pointless. 

The waves come and come and come but if I occupy myself with something to do, they eventually fade. Vanish. There was a time when I thought this was permanent– the pain, regret, depression. 

There was a time.


I search for balance, I rework my priorities, I rethink my approach. I try. 

I pace back and forth in my room. I walk downstairs and back up again. Something has got to give– something, anything. It’s difficult to look away sometimes. How am I supposed to focus on one task at a time and balance this shit show without going insane?  

It feels impossible

So I try again. 


Deep down, past the inner me, beyond reason, I ask: What am I’m searching for? What am I trying to say?

I don’t think I’m trying to say anything at all, and that’s the problem. 

Leaning my weight on empty dreams, always falling, caught in freefall, in the middle of it all. 


Author: Jona

Jonathan is a Health and Wellness Content Writer. Devoting his time to increase exposure to the general public of the importance of living a healthier lifestyle, both inside and out. His primary goal is to enrich the lives of those he's fortunate enough to reach. Jona has more than five years of writing experience with a little over a decade spent on learning the fundamentals of health and wellness.

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