He noticed something today.
The day itself had been relatively good for the most part. One of his sort-of friends texted him about his going to college soon. He shared his major with Tai, and what little he knew that he would have to do to get to where he wanted to be. That conversation wasn't what sparked the realization though.
They were driving back to the apartment, silent mostly, as Tai's thoughts wandered. It seemed, any thought of the future, even merely a day or two ahead, was petrifying anymore. He wasn't sure why that was though. Before, he used to look to the future with something akin to hope. Now, it seemed he dreaded the days going by. He dreaded the future.
He couldn't really imagine a future for himself, not that he ever really could.
Sure, he'd had dreams, but that's all they had been, childish dreams. He could never remember ever having actually wanted something attainable. Everything was always farfetched and unlikely. For the longest time, his first actual dream, had been to be a writer. Everyone suggested journalism, but that was definitely not what he wanted to do, he despised most journalists, or more accurately, what they were paid to write. He wanted to write about fantasy mostly. That kind of writer, but as he grew older, he learned, you had to be someone or be from somewhere to achieve that. Otherwise, who the hell were you? He could self-publish, but at what cost?
His next dreams were no better. He had wanted to be in a band, be part of the next generation of musicians and help kids like the bands he grew up listening to had helped him. He could never find people serious about it. Or they never had time to practice.
He wants to be a scientist as well. Explore the theory of dark matter and the multiverse. He has theories he would like to prove true or have them proven beyond reasonable doubt to be impossible. But even that, the cost monetarily will be tremendous. And who knows what sort of job a scientist can get? Scientists aren't talked about. They just are.
He doesn't seek fame or recognition, that's not why he wants those things. He just wants to help people. Writing something meaningful, playing meaningful music, or making a scientific discovery that could potentially help people.
When did the future become so daunting?
It didn't used to be. But all he wants to do now, is stay in his apartment and sleep. He doesn't care for the world outside. Why should he? It didn't care about him. For the most part, it hated everything about him. From his tattoos, to who he was on the inside.
Thinking about even the next week, is nearly cause for anxiety to drown his thoughts. It doesn't make sense. Things are fine. He'll start a new job in a few days, maybe a week at most. But it's a job, so he'll have income.
Which draws him to his next issue.
What if it comes that he can't make himself get out of bed? What if he can't stand all the people?
His nametag will be prominent. He will likely get stares or worse. Especially as he doesn't bind his chest. He's not sure how people will react to his name and his appearance. He's never worried about it much, but that was before he was openly himself at work. He knew people shouldn't treat him differently, the man who interviewed him certainly didn't, but that didn't matter. Anyway, that could always simply be for show, being 'professional'. Which essentially, is simply being fake. But that's how this world runs. On falsehoods and deceptions, because honesty is far too much to ask for.
A part of him didn't want to assume the worst, but at the same time, another part argued he was only being practical. And yet another argued he was being slightly paranoid. Yet another spoke up that he was rightly so, crimes were committed against people like him all the time. Gods knew the authorities around where he lived and worked wouldn't do much if it did actually come to something like that.
He sighed. A new job. New people. New responsibilities. Depending how things went, perhaps a new life with his girlfriend. He had been told and heard that things couldn't stay bad forever. But this wasn't a book. This was life. There never seemed to be any happy endings. There was always something.
He wondered, if he spoke to her about the future, what she would say. They didn't speak about it too much, not in more concrete planning anyway. He wondered what she would say about his worries, the anxiety he infallibly got when he thought about it. He could ask her, he knew he could, but he wasn't sure he wanted the answers.
He knew, before his beliefs had been stripped away, he had never worried over the future like this. He worried about it somewhat, yes, but not like this. He had been sure, secure in his beliefs of how the universe worked. Not now though, now he was like those he used to scorn. It was fitting, wasn't it? He used to mock them and now he is one of them. Funny how that works...
The red head gazed across the room, she was laying down, reading a book he had suggested to her. If he could find the words, he could talk to her now. But he couldn't and he looked away, suddenly, he was tired, despite it being rather early in the night still. He knew he wouldn't sleep yet though. He wanted to spend time with her, even if they were sitting in silence, engrossed in separate activities. He pondered what they could do together, and came up with a few ideas, but still wasn't sure. For now at least..., he would read a little bit more, and maybe try to convince himself to talk to her.
Some things just aren't...
