Purpose: Why is finding it so hard for me?

It’s something we all look for or have looked for at least once in our lives. Some of us might have found it while a good portion of us are still searching. Some say it’s something that comes to you when you least expect it. Others say it’s given to you at birth from a higher power. Some others have said that there is no divine reason for anything and we are simply here to live, reproduce and die.

I am not sure which of these theories I wish to believe. Perhaps I shouldn’t believe in any of them. Perhaps I should stop thinking and search so hard for something so intangible. But growing up with Anxiety and Depression forces me to think long into the night about the meaning of life. I fear that I may be searching for the purpose of my existence for years without any answers.

I know I may be over thinking things. A fatal flaw from existential angst. I can’t help but be envious of those who have found their purpose. I know it didn’t come easy for a lot of them. And I know that I should probably be patient and let it fall in my lap. But there’s something itching for me to find it now. Presumably, my depression weighing me down with thoughts large enough to fill the room and suffocate me until I finally collapse into a restless slumber. At least that’s what it feels like to me.

Then I wake the next morning, or sometimes evening, and think about all the things I must do to be a functioning member of society. And I never do them. Because I don’t believe my purpose it to be a “functioning member of society.” Whatever that means.

Perhaps I will never truly find my purpose for existing. Perhaps it will come later when I least expect it. Perhaps I will find it in my passions; Writing and Art. As soon as I get over the anxiety of being a writer and an artist full time.