Let’s be honest. Life is tough. No matter how cushy you have it. At some stage… it’s going to get rough. It happens to everyone. You’re not the only one. You know I hate that saying, I really do. Perhaps life is tough. Perhaps I have it better than many others. I do not doubt that. Hell, I wont even try to argue that.
The other day, at the my osteo’s I actually had a breakdown. Now I say this a lot and yea, normally I just have a little cry. This time it was more like that crying kids do when they’re five and missed out on cake. Blubbery sobbing. Not pretty. Mascara running down my face the lady politely told me she knew what my problem was and why I was so tense. ‘You don’t let yourself feel emotion.’ Say what now?! I’m always emotional I stubbornly said in my head. I feel stress. But that’s the only one I’ll admit.
I don’t let people in. I don’t tell people when I am struggling. Who does in this profession? I would be lying if I said I was ok. I have been far from ok for sometime now. Though I think it’s borderline sad that as humans we never really give two flying hoots when someone else is struggling, I think more because it means we have a chance to get ahead, I think it also shows just how deep I can shove it all. Stuffing. I’m good at it. I’ve always been good at fitting a lot of clothes into one small bag to slide into a small place somewhere in my messy car. It’s like that with my life. I pack all my emotions into the smallest bag possible and I shove it somewhere into my messy life.
But in all honesty. In rough throw it all out there style. I simply can’t. I try and I beg myself to let people in but I don’t. I don’t know why. Perhaps it is because I am so guarded because of the ridiculing I have had my whole life for something that I cant help. I mean I probably did choose a very messed up profession to avoid this but I am dyslexic and that means spelling and grammar is an uphill battle. Constantly. It never stops. And the constant judging and pointing out my mistakes is tolling. To the point I get so defensive I just can’t go to class. The headaches get worse and I want to give up. No it’s not just the defending myself that gets me. It’s the being sick and the constant wondering if you’re one the verge of a breakdown.
I am afraid of the world most days and afraid of the one thing I love: writing. Why? Because I’m not actually strong enough to stand up alone and take it like a woman. I cower like a scared little puppy who just lost it’s pack.
We are in a competitive profession. It is a fight until the death. That is hard. That is unbelievably difficult and I wonder some days if I really can hack it. If I am good enough. Not that I don’t think I am. I think I am. I don’t think other people will agree with me.
That is the struggle. Struggling. Being ok with coping. Making it alone because no one, and this is not a ‘please feel sorry for me’ speech, this is honesty. No one actually gives two red baboons how you feel. No amount of explaining will make people understand. This is the world we live in and it sucks if I’m going to be perfectly honest.
I’m not even going to try to be funny on this one.
I know I am not the only one who struggles like this. And to end on a little bit of a philosophical note: put down the dam armor and just do something for someone to be nice. Help someone else get ahead. Just be a good person and understand someone else’s hell.
Because even though there might be worse hells out there. Each one of us is living their own one. And to each of us, it’s the only one we know. And it’s the only one that’s tearing us slowly apart.