My suffering wasn't conditional, it was infinite

 I think about what's changed recently. What's added weight? The baggage I used to carry, I carry to this day but somehow the cart feels heavier. I still think back on my psychiatrist's question, "What do you think triggered this? Is there anything stressful you're dealing with at the moment?" My words stumbled, unable to form legible sentences that would make sense. When you deal with anxiety every single day, it becomes a noun, no longer an adjective. It becomes your life. 

I think I may have found an answer. I graduated law school recently. By recently I mean last year. But since then what I used to carry, now I drag over. I used to believe that my suffering has an end. There is a reason for my misery. I have been holding my Dad's umbrella ever since my Mom first left. To stay dry it's become my responsibility to hold the umbrella. That was my role. Although I despised the task, I accepted it. After all, rain stops when the sun shines. Rainy days come and go. One day, I actually believed, that I need not hold the umbrella anymore, not for anyone else but me alone. All I had to was. . . wait. I thought rain will finally stop when I graduate from law school.

It didn't. It kept pouring.

And my suffering turned into agony. Now there is no end. There is no hope. I will take this weight with me to my grave and that uncertainty in time, overlooking an endless road, stuck in a loop of endless pursuit, is my future. And it doesn't look promising. Why then should I still care about it. Why then should I worry about it. The rain will never stop coming. And now I'm doubting why I hold the umbrella in the first place. Maybe if I get wet, I'd stop feeling so cold. My body will adjust to the temperature and I can finally stop worrying about the god damn umbrella.

My suffering wasn't conditional, it was infinite. Waiting is futile.