Where the voyage started, it is hard to tell. For a long time, the clouds in the sky have prevented me from seeing the journey that I am on. My attention wandered elsewhere, forgetting that I am adrift on this sea. My thoughts just accepted the situation, and proceeded from that point. But with the clouds burned away by my thoughts, I question the entire situation of me.
I look around, and I can see and feel the echos of my friends, yet at this moment I feel solitary and alone. I am surrounded by people, yet so alone. My thoughts have me cornered, yelling at me, directing me, pushing me somewhere.
I have been on this voyage since high school, at least. A long time ago, I developed the belief that I cannot have fun, that having fun just leads to pain. That it is better for me to accept where I am, and tolerate it. Easier to accept than to desire better.
It is why, despite my desire for something more, nothing has really changed for me in over 10 years. I still fear the water, and cannot leave my small raft. I have no sail nor oar, and my own arms feel ineffectual against the strong currents of the sea. The harder I paddle, the faster the current takes me in the other direction.
I cannot do anything for myself. If the goal is to have fun, I have a problem doing it. Yet I give freely of my assistance to others. The best I could do to enjoy myself was to help others, and through them gain some happiness. I am at my best, and most confident, when I am helping my friends and loved ones.
My thoughts scream at me to hide inside a shell again, to drift away from everything and just accept that happiness, fun, and enjoyment are things that I have not had in life and that I will not have in life. That is about the only lesson I learned from my father, but he taught that lesson so very well I believe.
I can't get past it. I can't turn it off. I just want to relax and enjoy something. But I can't really do that, unless I'm doing something for someone.
When I was a kid, my dad always--always--had work for me to do. If I was just doing something "for me", I had to stop doing it and do something for him. At least, this is the part that I remember and recall. But if I was doing something for someone else, helping someone out, then I was allowed to do that. But I couldn't just say "I want to play" or "I don't want to do that now, how about later."
But it always felt like, if I was just sitting around doing nothing--not actively doing anything that I enjoyed doing--my dad seemed to not have anything for me to do. I could slink away into the corner, be quite, find something boring to occupy myself with, and I would escape from my Dad's plans for my labor.
The biggest current effect of this is that I really can't do something "for me". I can do something to learn, or do something for someone else, but when it comes to doing to "for me", I can't deal with it. I just want to go hide.