(originally published June 11 2015)
I want to get all the words out of my head, because there are an awful lot of them. They’re clawing at the back of my mind, and I want to blame them for the headaches that are having oh-so-much-fun frolicking about.
I’m extremely lost as a person right now. I supposed that is to be expected of a sheltered eighteen year old university student, but I feel a sort of lostness that cannot be put down to simple confusion. I feel like I have no real direction in life whatsoever. Any so called future I can see for myself is blurry and unreal. It’s a fabricated fantasy to keep my mind from falling into black entirely. I don’t particularly know what to do about it. Does one follow a wish-hope-dream on the very slight chance that it could be something, or do I continue to curl up, literally and figuratively, in a foetal position and hope that it would all just damn well go away? Everything I have read or heard so far has always advised the reader/hearer to at least try, so maybe this is what this is. A very small step towards becoming something. A few hundred words towards being more than a shell of a person. I don’t know.
Several people in my life have told me to never stop writing. I do not believe I have any special talent with words, particularly as I’ve got older, but I have a lot of things to say, and given that I have a small audience at this point I suppose it’s permissible to share them. I want to write things of substance. I want to help people find a light of sorts, but I don’t know if that makes me slightly narcissistic—giving myself credit for an ability that I do not have. Allowing myself to believe that I actually have the ability to change things. Maybe that is what hope is? I don’t know. As I slowly am pulling myself out of my latest black hole I have an itch–a need–to help others who have fallen or are falling into their own. A momentous task, but it’s something to live for. I don’t know. Again, my words are tripping over themselves.
So what?
Well, honestly, I don’t know how to proceed from this point, other than to write and talk and get words out and hope that maybe they will be of some sort of use. A reminder that sometimes life will feel like it has come to a standstill, but can somehow continue?
Currently, I’m in a mixed state of emotions, I think. After being so depressed for two months, I can finally do things a little, and I feel the need to do many things— to catch up I assume—but so far I have hated everything I have done. It’s infuriating. If I created using paper and pens, rather than on my laptop, my waste paper basket would be filled ten times over. All I can do is keep creating and hope that something slightly less hateful comes from it.
These sort of thoughts are among the ones people do not tell you about at school. I have a lot to write on that topic, actually. Other things not taught at school included taxes, how to move out, and what to do if your mind scares you.
No one ever told me that at eighteen I would be scrabbling so furiously just to survive without running off into the bushland and screaming for a week and a half/until my vocal cords broke. No one told me this. I always expected the up and downs of everyday life, but nothing could have prepared me for real life. My predictions of reality do not match my true reality, and I’m fumbling about in the dark, trying to understand it all.
I’m not afraid to say that jealousy sits ever so quietly in the corner of my mind. It does. It’s entitled, I know (‘Privileged girl upset because life is different to vague plans’) but it does not change my reality, what ever that is. I feel lucky that I have the ability to be jealous of my friends and their ability to not fall off the nearest mind-cliff—at least I’m not starving in some godforsaken village. Us humans have to make the best of what we have, I suppose, so that is what I am attempting to do. I, like every other human being, has had unique experiences, and therefor an ability to share and create in a way like no other. So that’s what I’m doing.
britts amelia. 