I can’t tell you the last time I felt something enough to actually write. My creativity has been draining from my head as if someone had started to siphon it out, only to be replaced with warm air and dirty thoughts. Writing used to be my outlet, my hiding place in the real world, my lover. Now it feels forced. Like I’ve been left behind in a cold, cruel world full of sneering glances and smug looks. I need to write again. But more importantly, I need to feel again. Self medicating is never the answer but I can’t even tell you how I did that. My body’s just shut down so that my brain has no real use. I’m constantly swimming in numbers and spreadsheets; my left brain growing stronger by the day while my right grows weak and useless. It’s not work’s fault; work pays the bills. My job gives me a chance to make it in the world on my own so that I won’t needs a partner to take care of me. But by subconsciously devoting the majority of my time and brain to the math behind the ads, I’ve started to accidentally kill all of the lovely words that used to live there. Words used to flow out of my hands like webs, sticking to things they found a emotional connection with. Now they hide in my brain under percents and behind fractions. Can there be a common ground? How do I find the no man’s land between them to bring them together? Where is the neutral area to eat Christmas dinner on?I’m starting to see writing as if it were a chore, one I try to avoid by focusing on the ceiling fan. I never wanted this. I just wanted to be free. Instead I’ve caged myself in an excel document.
Ever since I was little I’ve known what the word “claustrophobic” meant. My dad would talk about his fear of being in small, cramped spaces and I figured, if someone as big and strong as my dad was afraid of that, it’s ok that I am too. But my fear has kind of transformed. I’m still afraid of small physical spaces, but now I’m more afraid of being stuck in any small space. Being stuck in my job, in this town, maybe even in my own head. I have no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing and it’s terrifying. I feel very stuck. Right now, today, in this situation. Very stuck. And I have no idea what to do to unstick myself.
I think the majority of my anxiety about the future of my career (and life) stems from the belief that I do not have a valuable skill set. I went to school for communication. That’s too broad to have gained a skill set worth anything. I worked in newspaper advertising for 3 years (which is practically defunct) and just now started working in digital advertising. My skill set here is based solely on other people’s impressions and and whatever the fuck an eCPV is. I feel like I’ve learned nothing to be able to make it on my own. Yes, I can make a media plan, but how does that help my future?? I feel useless and directionless, like a broken compass.
I like writing. I enjoy being able to express my emotions through words on paper rather than words out loud. When I speak my mind, it doesn’t make sense. Words come out jumbled, tripping over each other in a race past my tongue. They trample one another in order to reach the listeners ears and end up in a pile on the floor. But when I write, I can edit. I’m able to map out feelings and thoughts. They flow like a river, slow in some areas, racing quickly in others, careening toward the ocean that is a page. It’s comforting knowing that I have this outlet.
However the comfort doesn’t always last. So here I stand, surrounded by piles of helpless words. Watching the world pass me by, doing nothing to halt it, even long enough to jump into the motion.
Do I believe in God? Yes, I suppose so. But do I believe He has a plan for me and this life? No. Rather, I believe He is watching, waiting for me to make up my mind. He sits in his chair, preparing to judge the future I create for myself. But neither of us know or understand how this will work. All I can guess is that the feeling I get in my gut every time I realize I have no real plan for the next few years of my life is not somethings He is familiar with.
Or maybe He is. I guess I’ll never know.
Since starting a new job four weeks ago, a lot of my free time (not that I have much) has been spent panicking over my future.
- What will I do?
- Where do I go from here?
- How will I support myself as an adult?
- Do I really want to continue on this road?
- Where does this road even lead?
- Was this a mistake?
- Why did I leave my old job?
- Am I smart enough to be here?
- Do I even know what I’m doing??
At any given moment, these and countless other extremely frightening questions can be found swimming through my head, drowning any thought of happiness or contentment. My brain swells with thoughts that threaten to keep me awake at night, staring into the dark abyss, uncomfortably aware that I might never make anything of myself. Of course I can’t begin getting comfortable at this new place. Everything is wrong. I’m not smart enough to be here. I’m not smart enough to be anywhere! I’m useless and talentless. There is nothing more disheartening then realizing that you are mediocre, that you possess no unique talents, and that there are plenty of other people who can do exactly what you do, only way fucking better.
So then, the question becomes how does one make it through this unscathed? Or at least in one piece… Can I get better? I can take classes. I can go back to school. But do I really way to spend all my money for a masters degree in something I probably won’t like in 3 years? Could I even make it through the program? How much does a master degree cost? Would I be able to budget my time accordingly? I can’t commit to this… What if I don’t like it and don’t want to do it after a few days? Do universities offer refunds? This is way too much for me.
My mind feels like a WWE wrestling match. Right now, any form of delight I might have had over now working in Soho, or living at my summer house, or even the God damn weather, is getting beaten to a pulp with a folding chair in the corner of the ring, with its head lolling lower and lower and it’s nose bleeding profusely. I can’t tell if I’m frustrated about not having a general direction to run in, or if I’m completely terrified of it.
Having a goal would help tremendously. But as you can see, I’m goal-less. The way I see it, I’m basically spitting in the wind, hoping it won’t come back and hit me in the face. But I know it will. Your career doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you want to follow the current with, if that makes sense. This is not a “go with the flow” kind of situation. I can’t just see where the stream takes me. Unless I’m wrong. And while it is highly probable that I am wrong, I’m still pretty damn screwed, possibly more then originally anticipated. Because if your career is something that you want to lift your feet for and follow the current, I might not be able to relinquish control long enough to. I like to pretend that I’m spontaneous and adventurous, but if I’m being serious here, the most spontaneous thing I’ve done all week was stop to get gas this morning on my way to work when my gas light when on earlier than anticipated.
So what do I do?
Do I spend the money, go back to school and hate the masters I’m only a quarter of the way through with?
Do I try and stick with the current plan and work to be an advertising sales representative, even though I know full well that I’d be the worst salesperson in the whole universe? Or do I just quit, steal a cardboard box and sleep on the beach in Breezy Point for the rest of my life?
I have no fucking clue. Maybe I need a life coach.
I really love this dress. Its classy and sophisticated and elegant and I love it. It reminds me of Sophia Loren. I want it to wear around during the summer so that I look like an actress walking right out of the Gilded Age of Hollywood.
But I cant have it. Mainly because its sold out (it wasn’t when I first found it) but in reality because its $435 and I’m not at a point in my life where I can drop five hundred on a casual dress and be totally fine with it.
Until then, I’m just going to stare at it and imagine myself walking through Rome with this dress and some gelato.
I don’t know where my brain was going with this. But I suddenly feel so old. Not like an adult, just very old.
So, I’m walking through Union Square after picking up the book I put on hold at Barnes & Noble (I may have been influenced by my new shoes and will let you know how I feel once I read it) and there are dozens of high school boys in their ugly colored uniforms walking around with clip boards. It kind of looked like they were doing a scavenger hunt or something. But as I passed a particularly large group I noticed that none of them noticed me. In any normal day I would have been more than happy to have gone unnoticed, but today, with annoying ex-boyfriends who might be considered alumni to the high school flitting through my overworked brain, I think I may have been offended? A few years ago I would probably have gotten a few looks from the 17 year old boys standing in a crowd by the lilac stall… but today, in my oversized aviators and one-size-too-big leather jacket, I was just another lady carrying an apple. Don’t misunderstand, I don’t want to attract 17 year old boys, but am I not attractive to 17 year old boys anymore? Do the hormone crazed teens passing me not noticing my butt even realize that just a few short years ago they might have thought something obscene as I passed?
But then again, I’m probably completely overthinking this. I should just chalk these thoughts up to not enough water and an irregular sleeping pattern. Maybe it’s because the ex-boyfriend implied above (or whatever he can be called) burst onto the scene with a Facebook request about a week ago after like, half a decade of absolutely no communication. Maybe this can be blamed on some weird bout of post menstrual syndrome?
All I know is that these thoughts are completely unwarranted and if I would have just called out sick this morning, I could have avoided this annoying feeling in my gut that makes me want to contact ex boyfriends and see how they’re doing.
Also, it doesn’t help that my boyfriend is totally great and is coming with me and my family to Utah tomorrow for a communion.
I’m just going to pretend that this has everything to do with my not wanting to turn 25. Because when I was 16 and that ex was a lot of what I thought about, I was convinced that by 25 I would have my life figured out, that I would have a badass job and be on my way to a chapel with wedding bells tolling and a Marine on my arm. I still love Marines, but other than that, things change. I barely make enough money to support a myself, let alone a family. My job is probably the furthest thing from “badass.” I don’t consider myself anything close to an adult. I just keep buying shoes and hoping that they’ll eventually make me feel like a real person. That, or at least make me look like I have my shit together. Because at the end of the day, that’s all I can really ask for.
Wow… March. That was the last time I posted. I suck.
I want to say it’s because I’ve been soooo busy doing sooo many cool things. When in reality, my life has been basically exactly the same as it was in March. I’ve been working the same amount, I’ve submitted a few articles to TheBerry.com (which isn’t very time consuming because they’re small and not very serious,) I haven’t gone anywhere fun or done anything interesting. Ok maybe that last part isn’t 100% true, but I guess I’ve just been blocked from the fun of writing. I haven’t been able to write for the hell of it.
This time of year is always a little annoying in my brain. Hopefully I jump out of this soon. Next week I’m going to visit my aunt and uncle in Utah and then a month later I’m going to visit my sisters in SPAIN.
I’m already crazy nervous about packing. Ugh. Wish me luck!