And then I stopped dreaming

There are a couple of things I have been praying for and hoping for, but nothing. I’ve asked, as we’re encouraged to do, but the “you shall receive” part is taking longer than I would like.

And so, I stopped dreaming. I stopped hoping.

Have you ever wanted something so badly it became all you could think about? If you haven’t, good for you, Brandy made a whole song about it. You get hurt so bad by disappointment that you end up not trying at all. The possibility of the end being debilitatingly painful will keep you from even starting in the first place.

I’ve always believed everything is possible. Nothing is too hard. The result always matches the effort I put in. And the world will always make exceptions for me anytime, any place. But that’s all gone now. Chronic disappointment is a venom. A hope-eating virus. I’m just over everything.

I’m getting older, the energy isn’t the same anymore, and the risks are much higher. It’s not like when I was in my parents’ house and they’d cushion the fall. I’m someone’s mother now, a next of kin, a guarantor. I can be charged as an adult in a court of law. Dreams are costly. You need to pursue things that have a high chance of working out. 

So I started to overthink. 

In trying to protect myself from being disappointed again, I’d overthink everything. Hours and hours trying to see how I could potentially fail and how I can avoid it. I’d fry my brains scrutinising the idea until I was sick of the idea. By that time, I never want to hear about that idea again. 

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the Thembi Terry, you know, and love died. I stopped dreaming, I stopped trying. And that’s where we’re at. If you’ve managed to overcome this, feel free to let me know how you did it because I don’t have a clue how I’m gonna get through this slump.