All of the things I haven't done

I want a fresh start. Or at least I thought I did. That’s what I’ve been saying over and over to anyone who would listen to me for months. Until that fresh start was shoved towards me and I’m now - obviously - immediately drawn back to the comfort of the familiar.

I took my anger to the gym this morning to work it out. The fact I got myself there was a miracle, really. And I was pleased! But then I cried, hunched beneath my squat rack after seeing a WhatsApp from a friend asking how I was doing.

It annoys me that I even have to look at my phone between sets. Am I really that co-dependent? But I am, so I do.

It all feels especially unfair since the eclipse. I did all of the manifesting. Even burned little pieces of paper outside my flat as the A12 roared behind me. Maybe the moon knows I’m secretly too cynical to really believe in its power. That I just want to be part of the club.

There’s a Sylvia Plath passage - I think it’s from The Bell Jar - where she describes looking out at the rest of her life as sitting beneath a fig tree. Each branch representing a different possibility, all of them ripe and juicy, winking at her from the ground.

When I try to picture my own fig tree, the branches are bare or blurry. Like I’ve returned from holiday after forgetting to give it an extra big water before I left.

I want all of it, but none of it. Everything, and nothing at all.

Travel is scary and expensive. Children - what would I offer them? A house somewhere - but where? How does anyone work out what to choose and what’s right?

What I do know is that my fight or flight has kicked in and I want to run, like a rat up a drainpipe. But when I get to the rooftop and look down at the city I’ve built, there’s nothing there.

So. What now?

I’ll delete all the apps - no need for a real-time stream of new homes and wedding updates. I’ll pull back from my friends, who I suddenly feel smaller than and jealous of.

And I’ll wait. Like the bears in the rocky mountains wait for Spring. Beneath my duvet, or doing laps of Victoria park. I’ll be waiting, until the right course of action becomes clear to me and I can grab it. Two hands this time. Not letting go.

And I know what you’re thinking. What a privilege to have problems like this! But a privilege or not these problems are now mine, and no I can’t control my reaction to them - that doesn’t feel within reach right now - thanks very much for the advice.

I’ve recently become more aware of the passing sands of time. And I know - I know - 31 is not old. But it’s the oldest I’ve ever been. And the thought of another birthday passing with nothing to show for myself makes me feel panicky when I think about it, standing up in the shower or sitting down on the loo.

I imagine a hypothetical scenario in which I am dead, and my Mum finds out about my lack of pension, about my credit card debt.

But let’s not dwell too long on that. My manifestation skills may be weak but like I’ve said. I can’t die now - I haven’t done anything yet.