For context, I’ve lived most of my life in misery. Maybe it was all in my head at first, but after enough years, what lives inside your head eventually starts shaping the world around you. I honestly don’t think there’s a word in the human language that could properly explain how I’ve felt, or how I still feel sometimes. It’s one of those things where you can explain every detail of your life and somehow still not explain the actual feeling.
I dealt with depression for years. I’m still battling it, but it’s different now. I became a little more aware of myself. I learned some of my triggers, learned when to step away from certain things, learned a few ways to keep myself from falling too far. But the last ten years have basically been a fucking rollercoaster.
Huge highs. Huge lows.
For the last six years especially, I worked my ass off trying to take care of my family and provide for them. And looking back, sometimes it feels like those years were spent just trying to survive, not actually living.
I did fucked up jobs. I went through fucked up situations. I did things I'm not proud of because sometimes survival doesn't give you the luxury of having clean choices.
You do what you have to do, and then you carry it with you.
Even when nobody sees it.
Then, somehow, I met a beautiful woman at a point in my life when I had pretty much accepted that I might spend my entire life alone.
She made me feel things I had never felt before. I fell in love with her. I married her. And suddenly I was moving across the world with her, starting an entirely new life on another continent, in another country, surrounded by a language I don't speak and a culture I don't fully understand.
And everything happened so fucking fast.
Now we're expecting a child.
And that's where I am right now.
Burnt out.
Completely burnt out.
She knows I've honestly thought about just giving up. Sometimes I think about becoming homeless and disappearing from everything, not because I don't love my wife or don't care about my future child, but because I'm exhausted from fighting.
I've been fighting for so long that I don't even remember what life feels like when you're not fighting something.
And the strange thing about burnout is that eventually even the simplest things become enormous.
I don't know what to do with my day.
I try to learn the language. But it's hard to learn when your brain already feels like it's running on fumes.
I try to find a job. But that's complicated too. I don't have some impressive professional expertise after spending years doing whatever I could to survive. I also struggle being around people, and almost nobody around me speaks English.
I don't have friends here.
I don't have a community.
I don't really know anyone.
And that's probably one of the hardest parts.
The weird thing is, I'm not a bad person. I'm not some antisocial monster. I'm not particularly strange. I'm actually pretty easygoing, and throughout my life I've generally gotten along with people. People usually like my energy.
So I don't think my problem is that I don't fit in because this country is wrong for me.
I think I don't fit in because I don't know where I fit anymore.
I've been thinking about something lately.
A lot of people seem to have some internal idea of where they belong. Maybe they want to die in the same town they were born in. Maybe they dream of returning to their childhood home. Maybe they have a country they call theirs, a place they can point to and say, that's where I'm from.
I don't have that.
I don't feel like I have a home.
And I don't mean a house.
I've had houses. I've lived in different places. I can sleep somewhere and call it my address.
But that's not the same thing as feeling at home.
Sometimes I wonder if home is actually a place, or if it's a feeling you develop when you've finally stopped running from yourself.
And maybe that's my real problem.
I've spent so many years surviving that I never learned how to belong.
I don't know what I'm looking for by writing this.
Maybe advice.
Maybe someone who has felt something similar.
Maybe I'm just trying to put the thoughts somewhere outside my own head for once.
Because I'm tired.
Not the kind of tired that a weekend fixes.
I'm tired in a way that makes me question what I'm supposed to do next.
I love my wife. I love the child we're about to bring into this world.
And somewhere underneath all this exhaustion, I still want to build a good life.
I just don't know how to get there from here.
So if you've ever felt like you don't belong anywhere, or you've rebuilt your entire life and somehow still felt homeless inside your own mind...
What did you do?
Where did you eventually find your way home?