Scatter-brained, twiddled-thumbed to death, I sit and think, what to share? One thing that I’ve always struggled with is transparency – with my art, with my inter-personal relationships, with my blog, with everything. I often peruse my blog and think to myself, “consistency, write something, share something,” but I have been reluctant thus far. I’ve been holding back. For the longest, I’ve maintained appearances just enough to show up, produce, and please until that inevitable expiration date. I’ve always known that deep down, something always felt wrong – or at least not right. I would cover it up until it came to light and I unraveled. This has engulfed my entire life but has been most prevalent in my past jobs. Ironically my past jobs were also ‘bad’ jobs so I always had an external excuse as to why I was unhappy and had to leave.
It was not until recently where I realized that the problem was a bit deeper. I’m unhappy at my current job. Surprisingly, it’s not the worse job I’ve held. My boss isn’t a complete tyrant and the walls aren’t caving in around me. In fact, I have minimal complaints. I like my coworkers, boss, the commute, benefits, etc. It’s just not the right place for me. It’s a great job for someone, just definitely not me. I don’t want to be the kind of worker where I go in, do my job, and go home. I need more. I find myself waking up dreading going to work, rarely leaving in my cubicle, engaging in unhealthy behaviors, and hiding in rooms or the bathroom just to be by myself or say I showed up. It’s only been 10 months. I started feeling this way again at just month 6 – long before most of my past jobs reached their expiration date. I’m tired and exhausted.
These feelings don’t start or end at work. They carry into home, or the "idea" of home. Although my apartment is considered my current home, I haven’t felt like I had a home since about 18/19 years old. I’m constantly moving around trying to cultivate my own peace. I’ve never really felt like I belonged anywhere. I’m not sure if and where that place exists. I’ve always tried to somehow fit within the aspirations of my parents and ‘what makes sense’ or ‘what is safe’ while filling pieces of myself into wherever room was left. This has complicated my friendships, as it’s hard to open up, talk to, or be myself around even around my closest friends at times. I find myself feeling judged or misunderstood when that’s rarely the case. And even in terms of relationships, I always stumble upon men that are lost or need some kind of direction. I try to build them up without focusing on myself, and it’s never equally reciprocated. I get invested too quickly and rely on helping them to help myself and make me happy (never a good recipe). It wasn’t until recently, that I’ve been able to piece together the sources of my unhappiness and unhealthy behaviors with the help of my friends and my therapist (yes, I have one haha!).
As I get my mental health on track, I’m refocusing on me. I’m not searching or hoping for happiness in friendships, family, a relationship, a job, etc. I’m peeling away everyone’s perception of what I should be doing and where I should be. I’m learning that people will always pick themselves, jobs will always pick themselves, and life will go on regardless. And that’s not really a bad thing. I just have to find my home. I can’t pinpoint exactly where that is, but it’s not where I’ve been. I really believe home has to lie somewhere within the creative arts. I think that’s where my happiness and all that is meant for me resides.
I don’t want to be in this place anymore. And I don’t want to feel the need to drown out the noise either. So here I am. I’m almost 27 years old. I have no clue where I’m going or what I’m doing. But I am willing to start over so I can finally find HOME – my happiness, my peace, my contentment, my self. I’m going to find her.