Grayscale

Reckless — that’s what this was. Stupidly reckless. And yet I was standing there, almost frozen, staring at this piece of paper in my hand. At this letter, that was either going to save me … or completely ruin me. My mind was tearing me apart, whilst I was unable to finally take this one last step that I thought was so needed. How do people do this, I wondered. How do people decide like this, that they rather live than survive? Did they take it lightly or did they struggle as much as I struggled right now? How was I still so unsure, when I had already jumped out of my comfort zone and typed this goddamn letter. I had felt so sure of myself and my decision as I typed my heart out on that piece of paper that was now in my shaking hand. All my certainty had disappeared into thin air, nowhere to be seen. As if it never even existed. And there I was, thinking how stupid this was, how I shouldn't do this and go on as I did for the past years. It never bugged me — until now. In sudden spurge of realization, I noticed how drained I was, how my life was not really my life anymore. I never wanted my life to wind up this way, me in this position. Completely dissatisfied with what I had been doing these past twenty years. Even more than that. How was it possible that I never even realized it before? This feeling in my chest, which followed me everywhere I went. This tight feeling, almost suffocating me. As if I was trapped and had been this whole time. I did not have the faintest idea of how it was to not feel this certain way. To not feel … dissatisfied to the extent of it almost costing me my happiness, I supposed. It did not make sense to me, the fact that I never noticed before. How my life was running past me without me living it. How I was wasting my precious, limited time with something I deep down in my heart despised doing. Truly, I hated it. Every day, from Mondays to Fridays… I hated it. And never had I confessed it to myself until last night. In a spout of hefty emotions, I wrote my resignation letter, without even thinking about it. The consequences, the dangers, the disadvantages of this ridiculous idea. Resigning — losing this job, quitting this job that had kept me alive for so long. This job that I had dreamed of having whilst studying for my degree. The one thing that gave me everything I needed and yet took everything from me. I realized too late that this wasn’t it, that this was not what I had wanted for my life. Being alive was the goal and only now did I realize that I never really was. Ever since I was working. Ever since I entered this life. I never admitted it. The fact that this job had burned me out so incredibly fast and kept me burned out for the longest time. How I told myself that this was it, that this was what I worked so hard for. That this was me achieving my goals. Being comfortable, living… and working. Working, working, and working. A routine so bleak that I avoided even the smallest thought about this situation. Work became my life and life became work. It was terrible. I was living, I was surviving while having everything I would ever need and so much more, and yet I wasn’t alive. I wasn’t living! Coming home from work, there would be so little time of my actual life left that I would just sleep. Only to repeat the same thing the next day. And the next week, the next month, the next year. Was this what life was supposed to be? Me working to be able to feed me, to stay alive, to have a couple of days of »well-deserved« vacation a year? Was this really all there was to it? Or where did I go wrong? What did I do wrong to end up so frustrated when other people were happier than ever? Why wasn’t I? Even though I knew that there was no reason for me to be feeling this way, I couldn’t change anything about it. This feeling stayed until it exploded. And now I was standing here, in front of the office of my employer. Ready to quit and yet not ready at all. My legs… No, my whole body was shivering to an extent that must have been noticeable to everyone around me. I stood there, paralyzed. My thoughts were running wild, they were unstoppable. I wanted to quit, I really did. It was too late and I wanted to live, I wanted to be alive… just for a while. But quitting — was this the proper solution? Leaving the convenience of this good job behind… to do what? I didn’t even know, had no idea what would be next. What was I expecting to get out of all this? To be happy, running out of this building, feeling free? With no income anymore, I would have to leave my beautiful home. I had nothing other than this job — no passion, no talent. I just had my academic success, which translated into a successful career path. A path that I no longer believed in. The thought of going to work again just seemed like the most terrifying thing ever. It was ridiculous. I was ridiculous, having an existential crisis like this when I had everything I needed! But I did not feel like I had everything. I had nothing. And if I did, I had no time to enjoy them. What was the point? If I don’t quit I would have to come back again and again to this place, to this office which seemed nothing but gray. And then, I would just come home to a house, which would also seem gray. Lifeless, almost. I didn’t seem to be able to find a middle way in this situation. I had to decide between two impossible extremes: to live … or to be alive. What did I really want? And why was I trying to figure this out now instead of all those years ago when I still had the chance to do something else? Now I just felt stuck — there was no way I would be able to find my passion, not at my age. Not with this linear career path of mine that showed I didn’t know how to do anything other than this. This was all I did — my whole goddamn life. There was nothing I could do that would bring the missing color back into my life, the missing spark. It must be over for me, I thought. This was it — my one and only opportunity at life… and I ruined it. I wanted to quit, despite all that. I didn’t want external factors to decide over my own happiness anymore. They had been the ones that had been ruining it for me in the first place. I wanted to take it into my own hands — just this once. It was as if a little devil and a little angel were sitting on my shoulders. One of them pushing me to finally do it, to give this goddamn letter to my employer and just leave. To be able to breathe again and feel free. And the other one was pulling me towards my conscience. Towards the fact that this was stupid and not well thought through. That I shouldn’t make such a heavy decision just because of my silly emotions. After all, I wasn’t young and stupid anymore — there was no room for me to make dumb mistakes like this. There was absolutely no way for me to recover from them. If I had no plan, I would be ruined and the happiness I was chasing after would be unreachable. But also, I had savings. Money shouldn’t be the issue in this if I wanted to feel alive. Money was what had been keeping me in this situation and it was time it wasn’t anymore. I had opportunities and chances I could take with the money I still had. There was enough for me to stop working like this for a while. If it was just me… but it wasn’t. People were depending on me — me and my work — which made it impossible for me to take this decision lightly. How does someone choose this? Why did we even have to choose between living and being alive? Why wasn’t there a compromise to be made? Why must it be either or? Why can’t I have both — would that be asking for too much? I just wanted happiness alongside my survival. 

As I stood there, I made a decision. My eyes were looking at this well-written resignation letter in my hands. These hands were still shaking so heavily as if I just committed a crime. As if I was about to do something which I would regret for the rest of my life. I cleared my throat, lifted my head, and tried to gather myself. To free me out of my paralyzed state and to finally move again. My thoughts stopped — they had no more arguments to bring up as I stared at the door in front of me. I inhaled so deeply as if this was my last breath. As if I was trying to gain as much air as possible before suffocating again. My eyes closed, just for one second. I needed to gather myself and my empty head. And I was ready. So I stepped forward…

Only to turn around again. My face must have looked so uptight in that one second, in that one moment which decided everything. This was it. Never would I be able to bring up enough courage again to even consider this. It was my end. I realized that even more as I ripped the letter apart — knowing very well that I was ripping apart my plea for life. That I threw my last chance away into the bin, acting like it never existed in the first place. Going back to how things were, going back to this tight feeling in my throat. This was it — I had no strength to do such a thing, to turn my whole life around when people were depending on me. I had no strength to leave my comfort zone, even though I didn’t feel comfortable at all. This was it — and for the rest of my life, everything shall remain in gray-scale.