I remember a time when I used to be full of passion, always motivated. A burning force that drove me to do everything I ever wanted or needed to do. A passion so strong that it felt like if I wasn’t working towards something I was choking, strangled by my own zeal.
But that’s the thing about choking, eventually you will inevitably stop fighting and embrace it. Even just for a short time, and when you’re choking you lose the strength to go back to breathing. The vehemence and desire to be something more was the first thing to die, without oxygen the fires of passion stopped burning and began to smoulder. No longer could it drive me forwards.
When you’re choking someone your muscles eventually fatigue and lose the power that let you grip their throat. Your hold on them wanes until you no longer put any pressure on them. Your hand just stays there; a distant reminder of what you once could do, and then it falls away. Never again to reach up and grab them.
That’s what happened to my passion. I let it burn too strong for too long until one day it had consumed me, leaving nothing but ash. Now when I think of things I want or need to do I don’t feel anything driving me to do them, I just leave them be out of habit. The fuel is there but the spark of life has gone, like a car with a full tank of gas but a dead battery and a faulty alternator. Sure, you can jump start it for a short burst of motion but that doesn’t fix the underlying issue. Nothing to keep that battery charged, no power to keep that spark alive. Completely useless without someone that has some energy to spare, and even then the moment it stops I’m back to square one but with a bit less fuel than before.