I’m not sad. I’m not depressed, at least not in the typical sense. I don’t feel scared or lonely. I just don’t want to leave my house.
I am comfortable. It’s blustery and cold outside. My hands lose their softness and become rough. My face turns red with each wind gust. The wet snow blows through the air and surrounds me. I’m forced to “be” in cold, snow, and wetness. I just want to sit in my favorite chair or by our fireplace or curled up with my dog.
Maybe it’s more than the elements though. Could it be the only person here to really hurt me is…well me. I’m accustomed to the people in my house. They no longer injure me or maybe I just expect very little anymore from them. I have lost my ability to hope in anything more.
But out there…I had hope. I thought I’d have a career, people who wanted to be around me, and my own talents that could take me far. But I find myself faced with the fact that even out there, people are just disappointing. There’s not much worth leaving my house for it seems.
I left my job and the beneath the rubble was the truth. Back stabbing co-workers and a job that might as well left me for dead. I just can’t fit into the corporate life. I’m not a robot or an uncaring machine. I actually want to create, to grow, to love. But I find that this is an exception. Most people don’t know how to embrace beauty or love. They just want to protect their image even if it means stomping out yours.
So I don’t want to leave my house. I can create my own things. I can hug my dog and feel loved. I don’t have to be treated like a loser because I don’t fit in. I know my house–the way it creaks and groans, it’s weird little characteristics. I have just as much of a chance of “being something” in here as I do out there. Except no one is here to stop me or tell me I’m wrong or blast my ideas up with dynamite. I don’t have to be around lazy jerks or liars or people with no moral compass. I don’t have to sacrifice my health for a job.
I don’t want to leave my house because out there, what lies in wait is condemnation, judgment, and a place where all my dreams go to die. It’s a fabricated story that we are all told from birth that growing up and getting a job “out there” will make us happy and successful. You will work hard and have so little to show for it except the physical aches and pains from being chronically stressed, which turns into anxiety and panic attacks. And out there you get fancy titles which amount to the biggest pile of bull shit I’ve ever seen.
So no, I don’t want to leave my house. It’s safe and I will find my way to doing what I love and earning my own wages and not feeling like I sold my soul to the devil to do it. I don’t want to leave my house because in here I know who I am and what I need and I don’t have to grovel and beg for human decency.
Maybe someday I’ll leave this house but it won’t be for the corporate circus.