preferring binge eating over going to the psychologist

There's a certain relief that comes from driving aimlessly, knowing you're going nowhere. Specially at night, this physical embodiment of being lost is charming. The fog-like dirty air makes the silhouettes of trees fascinating. Anything fake and distracting will work for now. Too Muslim to go to a club, too worldly to not let the moment go - so turning up the radio seems easier than going through the hassle of finding the right company to guide one into a local club.

All my friends and I are at a phase right now where we're emotionally volatile. Our futures are thick like fog. Though not like this late night fake thick air that makes it harder to breathe. The fog, on the other hand, is like getting a panic attack at 1 am when you don't know if your best friend who's lost in his own bubble of casual misery would be awake to text you back. You keep texting anyway - gasping for air with every touch of the keypad. Come daylight, our miseries are not only ours anymore.

The spotlight on our failure as a university grad who failed to get a job is real. But only to family members. What's not real to them is the depression that comes with hopelessness and doubt. People can get sick leaves for a broken leg, no one believes in a broken heart.

Ok, no one even wants to believe in a broken life.

Our parents feed us, and we feed our nostalgia. Nostalgia feeds loneliness. Loneliness feeds misery. Misery feeds our lethargy. Then our parents just start feeding us criticism.  Imagine the diet our life is on right now. So naturally, we're all going fat and bald. We weren't very good looking young teens anyway, like the runway models nowadays.  Maybe we'll never reach our "physical peak." I blame preferring binge eating over going to the psychologist.

So here we are, late at night on this road at midnight in this car our parents bought in us in a hope that maybe we will go to office in it one day. As the passing cars mark a silhouette of the things in front of them, first with the shadows growing large, then slowly fading into smaller versions of the mass in front of them, I think that maybe its ok to be in the fog right now. Someone is flashing lights, otherwise the fading of figures won't exist. 

Lights come and go. So does misery. So does fog. So do friends. So do jobs. So do emotions.

Lets remember that for now.