chasing my lust for life... again

I haven’t written in a while. The clock’s last time was more than two months ago. Anyway, I’ve been trying to chase my lust for life again. Even before I started working, I didn’t wake up with the feeling of new promise, or some sort of optimism. I constantly felt like I was living outside my body; I just witnessed these events that happened to me with no feeling for it, but the anger and anxiety was increasing, but my self-confidence was not.  

A lot has happened, I guess. During my first week at work, a patient made me cry (I work in Medical - How? I don’t know how I got the job!) because she didn’t get her prescription in time. My car also brokedown a week after that; my gearbox-mount broke, which cost me $382. The mechanic said it’s not my fault “it’s just wear-and-tear”, it felt like it was my fault. Then, my partner and I celebrated 3 years together, with a recession-themed anniversary. No gifts, just a nice homemade dinner; I had food-poisoning that weekend, so no homemade dinner. Then, obviously, just a string of bad luck with my health; I got period pain that brought me straight to hell, and straight to the emergency department, which cost me another $130, and an extra $450 since I couldn’t work for a few days. At one point I felt like bashing my head on the steering wheel, not in a s*icid*l way, just in a way that made me want to give up. I just felt so overloaded. I was trying to breakeven from being jobless, but all these “it just happens, it’s not like we want it to” moments cost me most of what I earned, trying to breakeven. I also realised that the more that I try to find jobs that are related to my degree and experience, the more I get rejected… and hurt… because I realise I’m not as good as I thought. And at twenty-three I’m already a washed-up writer. No company wants to hire me, and I’m starting to realise it could be my skill set, my lack of experience, my lack of connections, or maybe, plain and simple, just how I am. Who I am. 

I know we shouldn’t take job rejections so seriously. We really shouldn’t. I just hate myself for not being one of them: the people who are making it, the people who have their foot in the door. My mum told me that your first job isn’t supposed to be great, and it will be hard, but maybe I’m not tough enough. 

Through the past months of working, I know I learned so much and the level patience that I’ve stretched myself to be able to attain, is crazy (dealing with the absolute nuts of a patient-base, is crazy, sprinkle some ill-feeling-absolutely-fucking-entitled person, and it’s the perfect day for a punishment!). The thing is, I actually like my job. I love what I do, I love how I can help people, I love learning about the inner workings of the New Zealand Health System, it’s great. I just can’t help but feel this monster creeping up behind me, reminding me of my “untapped potential”, my inadequacies, and how far behind I am from everyone. The girl who once knew excellence is just another cog in the system. Working. Not innovating, not working in the field she initially wanted because no one wanted her, not being exceptional, not knowing what my version of success was. What I wanted. I didn’t even know what I fucking want from myself. What was success to me? I love money, do I want to be rich or do I want to be happy? Can I get both? Do I want more time to do whatever I want? Do I want to afford the nice things in life? Do I want to spend most of my days working? Or do I want to spend most of my days crocheting? Reading? Doing the things I used to love for fun without feeling like I’m wasting time? How has my self esteem turned these pleasures against me? 

I was talking to a locum nurse about my self-project of trying to read, for pleasure, without a purpose (like the kind of purpose where I’m hoping to read a book, to write about it on my LinkedIn, or bring it up in my next job interview), to enjoy writing again without hoping someone will pick me up from the internet and grant me a position, and to crochet without thoughts of monetising it, so I can become a business woman. Just for pleasure. She told me that it’s a way of taking the power back, to just be able to do things that give you happiness, without measuring how beneficial it would be in a capitalist system. Even if she was the most talkative person I’ve had a break with, those are the best things I’ve heard all year. 

I just want to wake up feeling excited and fulfilled… and if it’s not too much, hopefully using my potential that all my teachers talked about. Academic validation has set me up. I’m now a washed up twenty-three year old with nothing to my name; which sucks, because I was always used to being able to reach beyond what was expected of me. Having numbers, goals, grades to reach, and easily identifiable methods on how to attain them. Always knowing how to outperform myself. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a prodigy, or I wasn’t the valedictorian, but I was pretty good. In every aspect of my life the barometer for success seemed so clear, and so specific, but now that I’m out working in the “real world”, how we measure success is so vast, I realised I might not actually know what I liked or like. I don’t actually know, deep in my core, what I want to strive for. I always just knew how to excel, according to other people’s standards. Making my professors, tutors, teachers, parents, grandparents, people I don’t even personally know, happy. To strive for the collective idea of “great”. Now, most of my Sundays include an anxiety attack after lunch. It’s perfect because lunch gives me energy to hate who I am! Win-win! I’ve written about eight possible blog posts, but my self-esteem is at an all-time-low, and I have absolutely no confidence in my ability to write anymore. And no one will hire me for it, so how can I say I’m a writer?

I write in my little diary, and I understand now what my teachers meant when they said that I’ll miss high school. I don’t actually miss high school, I miss the feeling of promise that seventeen year old Gabbie had. The whole “the world is your oyster, so now, go soar” approach. I just want to know what that Gabbie had that I don’t have anymore. I want that lust for life. But now, it’s the feeling that, as you go to your day job, where you know you like the money, but knowing that it’s just a role you play in your everyday life; that feeling of being in a pause, but you know your life goes on, time goes on, and you’re still just here. That I’m just the bare-minimum. The things I like aren’t things that make me standout, they just make me a person with hobbies. I like constantly making and creating tangible goods. Things to wear. I love interior design. I love reading. I love writing. I love my sitcoms. I love films. I love music. I love spending my days with my lolas. I love just being out in the sun… and I just want to be a dilly-dallier.I’m trying to pull my life threads back. I’m trying to have the same self-belief Gabbie did, but hopefully, based on actual self-understanding this time. I always wanted to vlog, to sew, to speak a third language, to pursue my side-hustle, but I’m trying to find the courage to do it. I just want to be great, I just want to be something. I just want to enjoy being alive again, now I’m just existing. Everyone says it’s enough, but it doesn’t feel like it. Just an average Jane. 

If I’m being really honest, I don’t think I expected the world to feel this big. I wasn’t prepared to feel stale or be stale. People ask me what’s my plan, all the damn time. I don’t know! And not knowing is one of the things that makes me feel like a failure, truthfully. I made a big deal telling everyone I wanted to make it out on my own, and, babe, well, here we are. I’m sitting on a chair, in my living-dining area with a glass of iced-water, that’s my weekend treat, and that doesn’t exactly equate success in any way. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful. I’m grateful I can afford rent, I can afford warmth, and that I got a job in this recession. I’m truly grateful that I can eat three meals a day and shower with hot water. I’m really really grateful. But knowing that all the hopes I held for myself as a girl, could now be gone, as I stare at the woman in the mirror. My life threads are loose. Unravelled. I’ve just been trying to tie them back together, this time, without shame (hopefully).