No Crying in the Casino

There’s a certain silence that builds over time. Not from a lack of noise, but from repetition. Constantly humming in the background of your life. You wake up, you do the things, and then you do them again. Another night, another morning. The weeks start to blur together, and eventually you’re not sure what you’re even hoping will change. You just know that something should have by now. Or at least you think. But deep down you don’t really believe anything will change because you have no proof otherwise.

I used to think I was getting somewhere. That self-awareness would be enough to buy my way out. That if I could name the patterns, I could break them. But that hasn’t turned out to be true. I know exactly what’s wrong with me. I know the shape of it. I’ve tried to be better, tried to fake my way into a new version of myself. I’ve done it all. And every time I try, I end up circling back to the same spot.

It makes you feel cursed. Like some part of you is broken in a way that can’t be repaired. I’m not oblivious to my blind spots. I can see what would probably work. I’ve even done it. I just couldn’t hold it. God hates a try hard.

What happens when the thing you want most refuses to meet you halfway? When no matter how much you give, it stays just far enough out of reach to feel cruel. I try to laugh it off some days, because what else am I going to do? I’m not gonna cry in the fucking casino. Should I continue to tell the same story to myself and pretend it lands any differently?

I’ve always had this disposition to me. Not loud. Not obvious. Just there. Like a watermark. It’s not because of some big tragedy or trauma. It’s just who I’ve always been. And it led me here, to a life that mostly mirrors that mood. I know people would say to be grateful, to count my blessings. And I do. I really do. But that doesn’t silence the question in the back of my head: Has being who you really are ultimately led you to what you really want?

It’s easy to feel like I’m being punished for something. Especially when I’ve done the work and it hasn’t yielded much. I start to wonder if I was ever meant to have what I want. That maybe the life I’m living is the one I was always going to have, and the idea of change was just a distraction to keep me from fully collapsing.

I write a lot about acceptance. About aligning with your nature. But there’s a particular kind of despair that shows up when your nature leads you nowhere. When being true to yourself hasn’t brought you closer to what you want, but instead stripped away every illusion you ever had about how things could be.

That’s where I’m stuck. In the in-between. I haven’t quit. But I haven’t moved either, at least not in the way that matters. I’m still spinning my tires. Still waiting for something to shift. A small sign. A crack in the pattern. Something to tell me I’m not wrong for holding out.

And I’ve waited with eyes wide open. I’ve waited blind. I’ve waited with hope, and I’ve waited without it. None of it has seemed to matter.

So what now? What do you do when it feels like life is daring you to keep going without giving you a single reason to? You either give in to that silence, or you keep moving through it with no light at the end of the tunnel. Because it’s the only thing left to do. I’m not sure which is worse. Both persistence and surrender may be equally pointless.

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