What Have I Been Doing?

I have been stunting my own growth. Refusing to let myself evolve because I’ve confused my darkness with my identity. I’ve been trying so hard to hold onto the old me because there’s many parts of my old self that I miss, but that has caused me to keep myself from growing into the better version of me. How did I not realize this sooner? I’m usually so attuned to myself and what’s going on/wrong with my mind, but I never really saw myself doing this. I want to cry right now. 

I want to ask myself so many questions, the number one question being, “What have you done to yourself?”, but doing that won’t solve anything. The question I need to ask now is, “Where do I go from here?” I have no idea, but I need to figure this out.

I’m struggling to find a job. A good job. One that pays well and that I can truly enjoy working at. I like Pizza Hut well enough, I’ve grown close to some of my coworkers and genuinely enjoy their company, but I’m not growing there. I need more.

Friends and family keep telling me about various retail/customer service jobs that I should apply at. The problem is, if I go into another job like that, I will die. Slowly, but surely, I will shrivel up and die. I can’t keep working jobs that I can’t stand. Outside looking in, it seems foolish to pass up opportunities for jobs I could probably have little trouble getting into, but I know I will hate them. I’m done being a cashier or a waitress or retail associate. I’m done with customer service in those kinds of settings. I’m tired of serving ungrateful people. To them, I am not a human being who has my own issues, thoughts, and feelings, I am just a tool for them to use. I only exist to serve them. I can’t do that to myself anymore. I’m holding out for better…..

Yet, despite my numerous applications, nothing has come to fruition. I’ve been working my ass off. Something’s gotta give…right?


Painful Inspiration

What is my Muse? While I wish I could say “my family” or “God” or some other happy thing, sadly, in my case, pleasant things are not inspiration to me. My Muse is the pain I carry with me everyday. The pain you don’t see behind my mask (especially if I don’t want you to see it). 

If you were to strike up a conversation with me, it’s almost guaranteed you would have no clue as to the suffering I experience. My mind and soul are breaking, but my composure is very strong. Maybe I’m punishing myself, but for whatever reason most people have no idea how truly sad and miserable I am. 

This is something I’ve felt almost my entire life. Almost everything I create is because of the pain I have. I wish it were different. I wish I could just be happy and write happiness, but sometimes it’s more than a will to change or a decision to be happy. Sometimes it’s a parasite latched on to you and this parasite does not want to be found; so it won’t be. 

I share my darkness more than I probably should, but the reasons I do that are so I don’t completely lose my shit (think pressure release valve), I can process/work through/cope with what’s going on, and so someone out there who feels alone in their suffering might happen upon my words and not feel so alone anymore.

And maybe so I don’t feel so alone anymore.