The Real Enemy Is Just Me

[whitepill_is_true]

Imagine this. Everyone has an "ideal version" they could've been locked, behind a door. This is true for every human being. What differs is the how hard one needs to push to open their "door", aswell as the life awaiting them behind that door. For some the door may cave with just a tap, while others will claw at it for years. Even then, what awaits some will only be a marginal improvement. Yet as I write these words, I merely fantasize about opening my door. I know what it takes to grab ahold of this version, I know only treasure awaits on the other side. The struggle of being obese is far greater than going to the gym. The devastation of mental isolation surpasses that of trying to form connections. This life I envision is simply within my grasp, waiting to be taken. Knowing all that, I still falter. Why do I not just close my palm and take what is mine? What am I missing? Is it discipline? Is it hardship? Every day I wait, every time I say: "I'll do it tomorrow!", the greatness of my "ideal version" loses a tiny ember, lost in the void forever. Has anyone else struggled with these feelings? The way to open your door feels like a secret everyone knows but me, like a sixth sense I've been missing from birth.