“What do you want?”

There it was.

It was a quiet simple question really. But that didn’t stop me from reducing into a blubbering blob of hopelessness, confusion and despair. The poor guy didn’t know what to do and the people standing behind me in the line were giving each other baffled looks.

“Miss…are you…are you okay?” he asked, tentatively offering me a napkin. I don’t think his customers usually burst into tears when asked what they’d like for breakfast, regardless of how delicious his muffins are, they rarely elicit such a passionate and emotional response.

“Yes. Yes, quite alright. I’m sorry about this. I don’t know what came over me. I’d like a blueberry muffin please” I apologise and try to smile it off. He gives me a sceptical look but nevertheless, warms up the muffin for me. I grab the brown packet and hurry out of the small café before some other baffled customer offers me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and inquires politely about my mental health.

It’s been happening a whole lot more frequently lately. Small, everyday things set me off. A salesman asking me if I’m sure about my purchase turns me into a leaky faucet, the cab driver asking me where I want to go sends me off to some land where profound questions find their profound answers, and like what just happened, a hot dog guy asking me what I want turns me into a confused mess.

The truth is I don’t know what I want. I know what I used to want, I know what I should want, but I do not know what I want right now.

And I don’t know where I want to go; for chrissake, I don’t even know which way is up never mind the direction in which my life is heading.

There must be something I’m doing wrong, right? I mean, it can’t be this hard and impossible. I know life isn’t all marshmallow pillows and rainbow poop, but it shouldn’t be this difficult, should it?

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