Trying to keep this whole thing more positive and light-hearted is really tough at times. Like now. (and also three weeks ago when I started writing this)
I’ve been feeling trapped lately. Well, the feeling has pushed it’s way to the front and center of my thoughts. It’s been there for a long time. Ten years ago, I felt it starting. What do you know when you’re 17 though? Nothing. All I cared about was hanging out with my friends, getting high, sneaking around to go to parties, and fantasizing about going off to college. Freedom was the dangling carrot that got me through my junior and senior years of high school.
I was a good student. I got a full ride scholarship to college. The pressure to get in and get out without accumulating any debt made me stay in a major I knew I hated. Sure, I was good at it. I understood it. It was something I thought I could just deal with while I lived my life on vacation days and weekends. When you’re 21, justifying that the paycheck would be worth being bored to death in a cubicle seemed reasonable. Plus, there was always grad school.
That all seems so long ago. I want out. Completely out. I never wanted to be in to begin with. That is where even more frustration comes in. I’ve been spending the last few years racking my brain for alternatives or solutions. Nothing has clicked yet. Days, weeks, and months pass by at warp speed sometimes. Yet I’m still here, stagnant and unhappy.
Going back to school seems overwhelming. What would I study? What would I do after? I have no idea. On top of that, the aching fear of choosing another field that is just as unsatisfying further stalls me. It’s one of the biggest reasons why I haven’t gotten out sooner.
The great unknown seemed so much more promising at 17. Now it’s gut-wrenching since I have to worry about “adult things,” like paying bills and rent. It seems that anything I read or hear on the subject says to just jump. All of the pieces will fall into place eventually. I like to think I’m adventurous. As much as I fantasize about walking out of my job and quitting in a spectacular fashion, I feel like that is like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.
While on the phone with my mom a few months ago, she barely asked a question before I burst into tears. It was years of frustration and unhappiness boiling over. I think I scared her a little bit. While my parents offered me my old room back, I would rather be miserable than move back to small-mind, small-town America to live with my parents. My ego wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Writing all of this down even makes me feel mixed emotions. On the one hand, it’s therapeutic. On the other, I feel like a petulant little child. “Wahhh I hate my job and I’m unhappy!” As if I’m the only person that feels this way. I’m just another one whining about it.
It doesn’t matter how much I think or write about it. I will talk circles around it. I don’t know what to do to find a solution. I still feel the dull, overwhelming numbness. The itch I occasionally scratch by making an impulsive choice. Anything to feel something besides nothing. Usually it ends up being painful and makes me feel like a total failure (and/or slutty). Sometimes it’s fun and I learn a little more about myself. Either way, the feeling is gone way too soon.
In the few weeks it’s taken me to write this, I feel like I have some plans narrowed down. I’ve finally come around to that point where I’m ready to take the plunge and get out of cubicle life for good. It won’t be an immediate transition, but hopefully in a year I’ll be won’t be whining about this shit anymore.