The dying prose of an hypersensitive arts lover

I am sad. Sad and desperate. Exhausted. Lost. Depressed.

So I know how it works. I got to find the problem, so then I can focus on the solutions I have. Because obviously, for every problem, there is a solution.

I have self esteem, that, thank god, I built all by myself over the years. So the problem is no longer here.

I have a roof over my head. I have access to food, water, and public services. The problem isn't in my primary needs.

I am surrounded by amazing friends, family and coworkers. I love them and they love me, and we support each other. That's not a problem.

I sleep well, eat well, I exercise daily, I don't do drugs anymore, so the problem isn't here either.

But I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I want. I don't know where I'm going. I tell myself that I want the best for my own person. But the thing is that the best isn't what my heart feels like doing. The thing is that I am consciously emotionally hypersensitive, and that it often unbalances me. The other thing is that I get easily bored and sick of things, so it means that routines doesn't work for me. Stability neither. Because I always need something new, something refreshing, I cannot stick to the same stuff for months and years. I constantly need change. But my emotions are so inconstant, that if my background is also inconstant, it makes me feel anxious and it creates chaos in my head.

I know that I am strong. I am very conscious about that, I've been through a lot and I'm proud of everything I did so far. So then, why do I feel so weak?

I know that I am intelligent. I can make links very easily and I learn very fast. So then, why do I feel so idiot?

I know that have a huge capacity of empathy, and that I am good for listening to others, I even enjoy it. So then, why do I feel so cold and distant?

I know that I have everything to succeed, I am perseverant and ambitious. So then, why do I feel so useless?

Get a job and stick to it, buy a house, makes babies, okay. That's life and we can't change it, so we better accept it. I get it. But every day, this acceptance kills me. Every time I imagine myself in some years, comfortable and bored, I feel as if there was a huge knife piercing my stomach. Maybe some people are just not made to live in this kind of world, and then I'm surely one of them. The pain I am presently bearing with is so heavy for my little, frail shoulders.

I'm not giving up. I can't, because that would make my situation way worse than it is. I'm just unhappy. I wish to share the dark substance of my tears, by turning it into words. But I feel like my words are powerless. Just as I am.

I feel so little.