'The Hike' - Chapter Nighteen - Spotting Patterns

Still Day 11:

I sped up so I could get to the Arch and sit there for a while, to think about my next move. It took longer than expected—some things appear closer than they actually are, especially my goals. Every time I saw a hut from afar, thinking it would take just a little while to get there, it turned out to be at least two hours. Or when I saw a sign saying the hut was 30 minutes away, I prepared for an hour. I have to be careful—sometimes, setting a longer time limit makes me unconsciously fill that time to the last second, when in reality, a faster way existed. It's one of life's games we have to learn to maneuver—where and how to place our time, and for what or who.

I was getting lazier. At this point, it was clear that I didn’t want to follow the book’s suggestion and get to Dobrila Hut. There were two huts before that, and I was stopping at the first one possible. I just didn’t feel like walking more than this, so I checked where Eagle’s Nest Shelter was and opened the cola I had been carrying from Kozia Stena.

It was windy up here, under the shadow of the Arch, where I hid from the sun that had been burning me for the past two hours. So I did what any person in that situation would do—I put on socks and slid my sandals back on. I know it’s a crime, something that could end my social life, but I get it—it’s fucking comfortable. Like Crocs. Do you remember how much backlash they got? That avalanche of complaints about how ugly they looked, so the people who made them had to go high-fashion on Crocs because they believed in how comfy they were. And now there are hairy Crocs, Crocs with chains, cheetah Crocs—or, as my friends call them, pseudo-lux.

We really make life more complicated than it actually is. Looks matter, and comfort can kill you, but the real pain is realizing how much of your life you are performing for others—then stopping, finding what you really want, and doing it for yourself. For those who already have their dreams accomplished—careers on track, partners, families—bravo. But with me, something always didn’t fit right. I couldn’t stay in one place. Much of the things I was supposed to like, I didn’t. I fought addictions my whole conscious life, and things just didn’t happen for me the way I thought they would. Because of all that, I became dependent on others.

First, I was dependent on my family, and there’s nothing wrong with that as long as you know where you’re going and show progress—but I didn’t. Until I started writing, I never felt any career path as a passion or something fulfilling. It was always just a paycheck. After I escaped my parents, I quickly became dependent on friends, then on lovers and boyfriends. I developed this habit of falling for the wrong people—emotionally unavailable ones—hoping that if they paid attention to me, it meant I had some worth. Because the whole time I was trying to attract the attention of others, I forgot myself, forgot what I wanted, and I grew worthless.

Right before I went on this journey, I fell in love with a guy, who was living freely and hedonistically, without any boundaries whatsoever. Something I clung to—something I was craving for myself. After that fell apart, and I became a burden (and to be honest, I was), I realized a pattern in the people I picked. They all had what I didn’t, and their independence made me dependent on them, losing the time of my life that I could have used to reach this goal on my own.

Sometimes, I feel like things just work out for other people. They usually worked out for me in the short term, but never in the long term. With others, it feels like I’m the only one who doesn’t get it right. Like everyone has a map, and I am still here thinking, what is a map? It doesn’t come as naturally as it does for them. If I had to put it into words—I have to be “on,” and it’s so hard to be “on.” Many times, I felt like I needed a literal guide—a human to tell me what to do every day—because I really don’t know what I’m doing. There is no grand plan, only complete chaos, and I can’t follow it or make any predictions. The uncertainty kills me.

Spotting patterns in our lives isn’t easy, even though it happens a lot. But getting out of them is even harder. The first step was realizing my bad habits—acknowledging them and learning about them. Information is key. It’s always nice to work on friendships, relationships, and family connections—because they act as extensions of our minds, but more importantly, if you’re lost like me, the real focus should be on working on yourself. I had to learn how to extract lessons from my setbacks so I could get closure—and understand who I am when I’m not performing for anyone.

Thinking about this is scary. It feels like almost every move of my life is some kind of performance. Who am I when no one is watching? And then, it got even darker—because when no one was watching, I was alone, still performing in my fantasies, but the audience wasn’t real—just a way to get through the loneliness from a very early age. I never got rid of my fantasies; they just evolved into more realistic ones. As a kid, sometimes I was Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or a Jedi, Black Panther, one of the Charmed Ones—always with some kind of superpower. Because I perceived myself the way others saw me—weak. And as I grew older, my fantasies changed—I imagined those emotionally unavailable people wanting me, seeing me perform, and saying, “You are worthy, you are good, and I want you.” I needed their attention because the attention of someone so unbothered meant even more.

So I was always living in a bubble—my own fantasy—protecting me from the harsh reality that I am now dealing with.

To be alone and not performing is the first step. So, I put on my socks and my fucking sandals, drank my cola, and got up to get to the fucking hut.

Iliya Badev

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