Pitfall

Wipe them away dear child

No one wants to see your tears

Hide your scars

You’re alone in this battle

Smile real big

There’s more pain to bear

It’s a long way down

And even further to stand back up

Just when you think you hit the wall

You’ll fall on another stone

No one said it’d be easy

Didn't you know that dear child

Didn't you know no one cares

Didn't you know you’re all alone

Wipe away your tears

Smile a little more

Pretending your world isn't crashing

Cover your gaping wounds

There’s no one left to help

All that’s left is the dark.

More like thoughts of a pissed off depressed woman....

I thought things would be different by now. I seriously thought things would be better by now. Maybe not so damn difficult. But if things are only getting worse lately, then where’s the hope that it ever will get better. Is there even any point in hope? Sure as hell doesn’t feel like there is.

When I was in high school, I dreamt of days that I wouldn’t be riddled with depression. I also knew it was going to be a battle. But I also knew back then the it wasn’t always going to be up front and center. I knew there would be periods of time that I was truly happy. But I thought these periods would last longer than two days. And that’s a good run.

I never expected life to be easy. Hell, I knew it’d be hard. I knew life itself would only get harder. But, what I honestly thought would get better was me. I seriously had plans for myself. College was supposed to teach me all the things I would need to know to start a great career. Instead, I’m a college drop-out (with the government hounding me over the $50,000 student loan debt for a degree I never even got close to getting) working in a restaurant that I hate. I loathe it. I used to love it. I loved the easy-going atmosphere. I loved that I was great at my job and that others thought so too. But what am I now? I’m the only person who does my job correctly. One other person is trained to do it and my boss hates scheduling him to do it because he doesn’t do his job. But guess what, he still has a job. And I can bet anyone’s ass he makes at least around the same measly pay that I do. That measly pay that doesn’t pay my bills. Much less, gives me gas money and food money. I haven’t been grocery shopping in months because I can’t afford to. I have a credit card maxed out. Not from huge expenditures. From putting gas in my car, and food in my stomach. Oh, that’s the same measly pay that is less than over half of the employees that sit on their ass while I do my job and their jobs for them. I used to feel appreciated for my job. Now I’m used. To them, I’m the errand bitch. But enough about my horrible job because I know what everyone is thinking when they hear me complain about my job. Just get another one. News flash, I’ve tried. Totally unsuccessful.

So why don’t I try to branch out and work towards my career anyway? Because that is also panning out to nothing. Sure, I get little photo gigs here and there. Sure my culinary knowledge is slowly expanding. But here’s the problem. No one invests in a 22 year old college drop-out female.

No one seems to think I’m worth the time or money. I know I’d be damn good at running my own business. Be it a studio, a catering business, a food truck, or even a restaurant. But no one else finds the same conclusion I do. Sure, we live in a world where women are becoming more “equal” to men. But there’s still the problem that not only am I a female but I have an entire list of facts about me that knock me further and further down the totem pole. 1. I’m 22. 2. I have no degree. 3. I don’t have a manager title behind me. 4. I’m not pretty. 5. I’m not skinny. 6. I live in a shit hole. 7. I don’t know anyone that matters. 8. It’s never been easy for me to makes friends, ergo, I have never been popular or well-liked.

Conclusion? Why the hell do I even hope anymore that I’m going to get out of this shithole of a life I currently have? 

Neverending

Sometimes, I dont know how I keep going. Lately it really has been one thing after another. On top of the work turmoil, having no money, my cat dying, and more money problems incruing, I still have the overwhelming sense of depression creeping up. I dont think it will ever end. Its a vicious cycle. I finally climb out of the hole just to have problems throw me back in. Then, the depression makes it worse than it really is. Its really hard to cope with. I've always been hopeful of a better future. But each day that passes is a piece of the future becoming a part of my past. They say to be the Change you want to see in the world. They say if you don't like how it is, change it. But its not always possi le to just give yourself money. Death is not inevitable. Bad luck comes, no matter who you are. So, once again, how am I supposed to see that light at the end getting brighter when there are vines of darkness pulling me backwards, more and more every day.

Lost

I just want to write. I just want to let my emotions roll. I want to get so lost in an idea or a thought that I lose hours just typing. I used to all the time. I remember when I was in middle school and high school that I would have millions of little spurts of ideas. Story ideas. Or even just two lined phrases that weren't connected to anything I'd ever written. They felt like these little spurted phrases were a part of something bigger that I hadn't written yet. I used to feel like I couldn't get all of my ideas on paper because there were so many.
Now, it feels like I could stare at a blank piece of paper all day long and never get an idea. Sure, there have been a couple spurts over the past couple of years but nothing in comparison to how it used to be. I remember getting in trouble in school because my teacher heard me flipping papers so much. I would be writing notes on the lessons(and keeping up with the teacher) while writing away at my stories. When I got in trouble, I didn't stop writing, I just became more sneaky about it. I started writing stories in the spare spaces of the notes I was taking. Looking at one of those pages, you'd see my carefully outlined notes, perfect for me to study from. Then, all around those notes were much smaller written words, forming lines and lines of whatever story I was working on that day. I've never finished a story. Well, I say I have but it was an extremely short story(about 3 pages long) about almost nothing. I even titled it "Nothing Never Known". It was and extremely depressing story. And it's nothing spectacular. It's just the only story I've ever finished.
Sometimes it would bother me that I'd never finished a story. I always used to say, "I just want to finish a story." Now, I just want to write again. Really write.
I feel like the emotions I used to have that led to me writing and kept me writing have been shut off. I don't know how to turn them back on. I'm slightly afraid to because that was such a dark time of my life. Not that I haven't had dark times since then, but they seemed different. My dark times back then were filled with feelings, even if it was always feeling sad. My most recent dark times were filled with numbness.