Who The Hell Am I?

Seriously. Someone tell me right now. I have no idea.

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

This is a fun time. I have no idea who I am or what I am doing on this planet. I tried Program Management, Case Management and now I’m trying psychology in order to soothe my intergenerational guilt and psychosis. Before that, I tried music, art, theatre, and writing.

It’s not so much of a who am I as much as what is going to pay my bills. Not writing. Writing is a hit-or-miss career. No one makes money off of writing unless you are one of those people on Medium who posts about the end of the world every day or writes about all manners of controversy. No one makes money off of writing unless they are consistently stripping naked online and baring their souls to the world and feeling empowered by it.

So here is my next moment of public writing nudity.

I only do what others want me to do. But in writing, I do what I want. In real life, I am a people pleaser and a loser. I do everything everyone asks and I feel miserable. I don’t break any rules and I am spotless. I am amazing. I try to do everything perfectly, but there is always a breaking point.

I broke again two weeks ago and now I’m jobless again. Nice.

I said I wouldn’t break. I am learning that saying I’m not going to break is a sure sign that I am about to fall apart.

I am who everyone says I am until I cannot perform and then I collapse like a falling star. This is my collapse again. For the 90th time. I have fallen apart and don’t know how to pick up the pieces. I have burnt beyond the crispiest crisp and don’t even feel like lifting my head.

I don’t want to show up for anything anymore. I just am tired. I am so tired. I just want to hide and sleep forever. I feel embarrassed and ashamed of letting everyone down again. I let myself down by getting so overwhelmed and quitting this job on the spot. I let my husband down because of bills and expenses and our joint needs, and I let my family down because I will be living with them forever because I can’t figure out how to keep a job.

I have no identity and I’m no one.

This is why people turn to meth, isn’t it? This feeling right here I assume. All I want to do is turn to a drink but I won’t. Why won’t I? Because I still want to maintain an illusion of put-togetherness for my family. While everything is internally falling apart. Not because I shouldn’t drink and drown my sorrows but because I just don’t want to look like a big ole wino whilst crying in bed about failing again.

So I won’t I’ll just apply for another dead-end job, burn myself out like a collapsing star in nine months, and start over.

Sounds like a plan to me. But seriously. I don’t know who I am or how to be somebody. I only know how to be this person that I have been for years and how to suffer for my mistakes like some hell-trapped demon spawn pushing the metaphorical stone up the hill for eternity.

On to the next weird decision.