Life has got in the way. It has smothered me and squeezed all the life out of me. The end is near, I can see the light as I lift this weight off myself and transform back into who I once was. Join me in my musings of losing yourself in the game of life.
When Life Gets in the Way: The Real Horror of Losing Yourself
We always imagine horror as something out there, lurking in the shadows, crawling beneath our beds, whispering from the corner of the room. But sometimes, the scariest monster isn’t external at all.
It’s the slow, creeping loss of the self.
That’s what happens when life gets in the way.
It starts innocently enough. You skip a day of writing. A week of painting. You tell yourself you’ll light that candle tomorrow, you’ll film that video next weekend, you’ll return to your rituals “once things calm down.” But life, that sly predator, never calms down. It waits in the tall grass of your to-do list, feeding on your focus, your fire, your sense of purpose.
And before you know it, you’re the one who’s gone missing.
The Quiet Horror of Routine
We talk a lot about haunted houses in horror, but what about haunted lives?
The alarm clock rings, the coffee brews, the car keys jingle. You move through the day like a ghost through walls, present but not alive. Every step, every task, feels like something drained of meaning. You catch your reflection in a screen or a window and for a fleeting moment, you don’t recognize the person staring back.
That’s not supernatural possession.
That’s the possession of obligation.
Modern life loves to masquerade as safety. Schedules, deadlines, and responsibilities build walls that keep the wildness out. But what if those same walls are the bars of our cage?
What if the horror isn’t what happens when we lose control, but when we surrender it completely?
The Disappearing Act
Every horror story needs a disappearance. In this one, you’re the victim.
The vanishing doesn’t happen overnight. It’s gradual.
First, you stop creating because you’re too tired.
Then, you stop dreaming because it feels impractical.
Soon after, you stop feeling, except for the faint pulse of anxiety whenever you think about what you’ve lost.
That’s how the mundane becomes monstrous.
Life gets in the way and we let it devour us one day at a time.
It’s not dramatic like in the movies. There’s no screaming, no sudden bloodcurdling realization. Just silence. Just resignation. You sit on the edge of your bed, scrolling through your phone, and a quiet thought echoes somewhere deep inside:
“This isn’t who I wanted to be.”
The Doppelgänger in the Mirror
Horror often uses the doppelgänger as a symbol, the double that looks like you but isn’t you. When life gets in the way, that’s what you become.
Your days blur into repetition. You say the right things, show up on time, do your work. You’re polite. Productive. Reliable. But the person doing all those things?
They’re not you.
They’re a version of you wearing your skin, a smiling specter fulfilling obligations instead of passions.
And the scariest part?
Most people won’t notice the swap.
They’ll praise your consistency, your commitment, your ability to “keep it together.” Meanwhile, the real you is buried somewhere under the noise, pounding at the coffin lid, gasping for air.
The Resurrection Ritual
But here’s where this story changes.
Because you’re the final girl (or guy, or creature) in this horror movie and you get to fight back.
You can claw your way out of the grave. You can summon yourself back.
The ritual isn’t dramatic. It doesn’t require moonlight or Latin incantations (though those don’t hurt). It’s simpler, and much more dangerous.
- Light a candle. Not for the gods or spirits, but for yourself. Watch the flame and remember what it feels like to burn.
- Do one small thing that reconnects you with who you were before the noise. Write a sentence. Sketch a shape. Hum a song. Whisper your own name like a spell.
- Refuse to apologize for needing space. You don’t need permission to be whole again.
- Set a boundary like a ward. Protect one hour of your day from the hungry jaws of “busy.”
This isn’t self-care, it’s soul defense.
Because creativity, ritual, and rest are how we exorcise the mundane. They are your salt lines, your sigils, your silver bullets against the everyday monsters that drain you.
The Monster Called “Later”
“Later” is one of the most deceptive demons in existence.
It whispers sweet promises:
“I’ll start that project once work settles down.”
“I’ll meditate when I’m less stressed.”
“I’ll live my life once I have more time.”
But “later” is a vampire, it feeds on your tomorrows until nothing remains.
The truth? You’ll never find time. You must summon it.
Even five minutes reclaimed from the chaos is a small rebellion. It’s you saying,
“I am still here. I am not gone yet.”
And sometimes, that’s enough to break the spell.
When Life Gets in the Way… Invite It In
Here’s the twist ending: life will always get in the way.
The interruptions, the exhaustion, the responsibilities, they’re part of the human condition. You can’t banish them completely.
But you can haunt them back.
You can make life serve your story instead of swallowing it. You can turn every delay, every detour, into fuel for your art, your growth, your transformation. Because horror has always been about survival. About finding beauty in darkness, and power in pain.
So next time life gets in the way, don’t see it as the end.
See it as the next chapter.
A chance to rewrite your own mythology, to rise from the ashes, or the office chair and declare:
“I am the main character of this story. And I’m not done yet.”
Final Thought
Maybe the real monster isn’t life itself but the part of us that stops fighting for what we love.
And maybe true horror isn’t about death, but about forgetting how to live.
So tonight, before you collapse into bed or scroll one more endless feed, ask yourself one question:
What part of me have I let life get in the way of and how can I bring it back?
Uncanny Lounge 
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