The Spiral
Some nights I lie awake and the same thought loops endlessly in my head: what if. What if. What if. While other people are jerking off in the dark or getting fucked stupid by their partner and falling asleep with that satisfied look, tomorrow ready to coast on momentum and build their life resume, I’m lying there getting nowhere, thinking myself into circles.
It’s always the same what-ifs spinning. What if I’d made tea instead of coffee this morning. What if I’d been nicer to the cashier at the station. What if I’d picked Apple Music instead of Spotify. What if I’d moved to Hamburg instead of Berlin back then. What if I’d told that girl from school how I felt. What if I wasn’t so fat. What if I hadn’t cheated on every girlfriend. What if I wasn’t so lazy. What if I wasn’t such an asshole. What if I didn’t spend half my life wondering what if I’d done things differently.
In the dark, my brain plays out every possible version, every road I could have taken, just to prove to me that if I’d only worked harder at some random moment, I’d be smarter now, more successful, actually happy. My career would be more impressive. My girlfriend would be prettier. My house bigger. My dick longer. My whole existence would be worth something instead of just wasted.
People I haven’t seen in years suddenly crystallize in my head and I’m replaying moments where I know I fucked up. Said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing, thought the wrong thing, and I’m getting punished for it now in this endless replay. Because in kindergarten I kissed the dumb blonde girl instead of the nice one. Because in seventh grade I went along with the crowd and spat on Jonas’s back. Because I turned down that interview and got drunk in the park instead. Because I listened to my own inflated ego and ignored actual advice.
Everything becomes a joke when you don’t care and somehow still get away with it. When it’s fine anyway, even though you’re not really trying. Your relationship falls apart because you don’t listen? Whatever, there’s another girl. You’re broke even though you throw money around like it’s Monopoly? Whatever, more money comes. You’ve lost all your friends because you ignore their messages? Whatever, there’ll be other people. You keep telling yourself this story until one day you realize there’s a bottom.
What happens when the well runs dry. When there’s no next girl, no next paycheck, no next person to burn through in your endless self-interest. When you’ve turned down the wrong street one too many times and you’re standing in front of the wreckage of yourself. Dead end. One thought left, and it’s going to hunt you for the rest of your life: what if. What if. What if.
The worst part is you can never actually know. You don’t know if your life would’ve been better if you’d confessed to that girl. Would you be living in the suburbs with two kids and a dog, living some normal life? Or would you have crashed and burned? Would you be best friends with Jonas now if you hadn’t spat on him, meeting up twice a year at some dive bar reminiscing? Or would your classmates have systematically destroyed you for four years straight?
Would your life have gone better if you hadn’t pushed away the people who mattered. The ones who believed in you. Who made you feel solid and real and seen. Who shaped who you are. The ones you owed at least the basic courtesy of listening to, instead of treating their dreams and fears like garbage and just barreling forward without looking back.
And maybe that’s the real what-if that keeps me up. Not the specific choices, but whether I even deserved better. Whether I’d make different choices now, or if I’d just repeat the same patterns because that’s what I am. Some nights I know the answer is probably the second one, and that thought is worse than any of the others. At least the other what-ifs have some hope built in. But this one just loops.
The thinking never stops. The time keeps moving, every choice pulling me further from whatever I was supposed to be. I’m losing it. And the harder I try to swim back, to hold onto something, the more it’s just fuel for the same thought engine. What if. What if. What if.