When I was trying to come up with something to write about today I couldn’t think of a damn thing. After a lot of mental straining the only word that came to mind was helpless because that’s how I’ve spent a long time feeling.
Helpless is how I would describe my mood today.
I did everything right, you know? Every damn thing I was told to do at school, at uni, and ever after to improve my chances at ‘success’ I did it. I followed every rule to a fault. Yet here I am, the person others use as an example. The “at least you didn’t end up like her” person. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do to change it.
We’re told, via movies and books, we need to go out and fight for what we want—grab it with both hands and don’t let go until it submits (sort of like Peleus in his bid for a goddess wife). You know the Hollywood story, girl from a small town moves to a central New York apartment, with no money and a glaring plot hole in so far as how she paid her deposit. She walks into a big five publisher the following day and demands a job after cutely spilling coffee (and somehow not causing third degree burns) on a hot guy who ends up being her soul mate. Which, as we all know, isn’t how the real world works.
Instead we find ourselves sitting on a threadbare sofa, in said small town, applying for jobs on our computer. We don’t even have the physicality of running around handing out CVs anymore. In terms of our fight or flight instincts we’re denied them both. Helpless is definitely the fitting word. As a creative person I can picture the future I want, so vividly it’s a physical ache in my chest, but still I can’t reach out and grab it. I literally can’t afford to.
Making matters worse no-one will tell me what I’m doing wrong. They say it’s not me, it’s the system, but there must be something wrong here. How does one not fall into a spiral of self-hatred when faced with an inbox full of silence every day? How does one stop dreading all social occasions because it’ll bring up the dreaded “what do you do now?” question?
Every cell in my body is screaming for me to do something. If I could don my hiking boots and climb a mountain to reach my dreams I’d leave right now—darkness be damned. And if those dreams could be achieved by entering a fairytale to slay a dragon I’d go off in my shining suit of armour tomorrow. Fuck the white steed I’d run across an entire kingdom to find that bloody dragon (and armour is not ideal running attire). Yet, in the narrative of my own life, I’ve ended up as that bloody princess in her tower, and I don’t even have the good hair to climb down on. My keyboard is the only weapon I have and no-one want to pay for my words.
There’s no moral to this post but here it is. My unfiltered reality as promised. But, hey, I won’t give up just yet. I’ll keep waiting for that dragon to slay.