A Life Not My Own

A Life Not My Own

Hello, everyone. It’s been a while — a day shy of two months, to be exact — and I think I owe you an explanation as to where I’ve been with my life. Consider this a Monday Monologue to replace a Sunday Spotlight.

On February 1st, my relationship the man I intended on marrying (I had a ring to propose to him and his mother’s blessing and everything) ended. There were a lot of things wrong with the relationship, a lot of good things too, but mostly it came down to the fact that I was just too depressed for too long. So, because I was living with him at the time, I had to move back home with my parents to my small town in Ohio. Which is completely normal for someone in their early 20s, but I came back broken.

I had nothing left, so I turned to God.

I went to church every Sunday and life group Sunday evenings, where I was making friends. I continued not drinking. I started reading the Bible and bought a new one that I could understand easier. Everything was okay. And I got a new idea for a comic book in the process. So, I was writing again, which is a good sign for my mental health. I also managed to get my friend to agree to be the artist for it. Things were looking up. But I still needed to find a job.

Eventually, I found one at a marketing company going to Sam’s Club and trying to sell hair styling tools to everyone who walked past me. That doesn’t sound too bad right? It was full time, they were training me for management, it paid… well, it paid better than minimum wage. But I learned very quickly that that job was not for me. I didn’t click with any of the people working there. The guy who was training me was very condescending. Trying to approach every single person who walked by was a serious mental drain on me. I couldn’t even write. I hated it and I felt stuck in it because of the massive student loans I have to pay.

I had no control in my life and that job made it very apparent to me.

So, one day before work, I went into the Wal-Mart that was next door, tweezers, silk tape, gauze, and a pack of shaving razors. I sat in my car in the Sam’s Club parking lot, broke apart a razor with the tweezers, and cut myself.

Side note: a system that I had set up with my ex was for them to hide the razors and for me to have to ask him for a new one. This system has carried over with my mom.

I bandaged myself up, and the addictive euphoria helped carry me through the work day. That was the scariest part to me. Not that the job was so suck-ish for my brain that I had to resort to cutting myself again, but that cutting myself had helped. I quit the next day. I lasted three weeks there.

Then I was on the hunt again for another job. This time went a little faster and I had a couple options, but eventually, I settled on a full-time receptionist position, my current job.

This job has been going much better, but I don’t know if I’d say that I’m doing much better. I don’t cut myself, but I do still cry most mornings before going into work and I now snap a rubber band on my wrist until part of it goes numb during really stressful days.

I ache for a job that doesn’t exist. A job that isn’t fast-paced, that doesn’t have me talking with people all the time (especially over the phone), and that has a flexible schedule so that I’m not terrified to take days off when I’m sick or brain-sick.

Even still, I managed to finish the first draft of the first issue of my comic. It’s not a huge feat, but it’s an important one to me.

I’ve shown myself that even if it takes a little longer than anticipated, I can still get stuff done little by little.

However, somewhere in there, I started falling away from God again. I’m still closer than I was before I had nothing, but not as close as I would like to be. The reason for that really comes down to two things: money and sexuality.

I have panic attacks thinking about my student loans and how I’ll never be able to pay them off and how I need to save up money to move to California, but I also can’t stop myself from spending money. Money management skills are not something that I have. I have never had them. Which also stresses me out. And I tend to focus more on that than on God.

Then there’s the issue of my sexuality. In Orlando, it wasn’t a problem, especially after Pulse. But here in the conservative countryside with conservative parents… It’s a little different. I identify as asexual biromantic. There I said it. It’s on the internet. I could go into detail about what that is, but I’ll break it down like this: I think sex is gross, and I want to hold hands with boys and girls. And no, it’s not a phase, it’s not because I haven’t found the right person, it just is. So, then to go to church and have someone boycott the new Beauty and the Beast because a character (who had no backstory to begin with, might I add) had a fleeting moment exposing his homosexuality, it made me feel distant. I’m not going to sit here and talk about my thoughts on Christianity and non-heterosexuality, I’m just going to say that it makes me feel isolated. Between liking girls being a bad thing at church and generally not accepted in my area, all I want to do is flee back down to Orlando.

But that would use up money that I should be saving up for California, but I will probably spend on other things like food or something I really want and then not eat because stuff is more important than food and my entire set of priorities is a mess and all-in-all, I’m seriously considering checking myself into a mental hospital like I should have done three times already but never did.

All of this is probably the cause for me dissociating more. My life doesn’t feel like my life.

The idea of working a full-time “real job” for 30 years (or until I’m dead, is probably more accurate if you look at my family history) is terrifying. I don’t want to live a life of working a real job, not even to fund my dream job. I’m too close to the situation to figure out how to get out. So, I either become angry or completely separate myself from everything. And that’s where I am right now. Fake smiles, the constant feeling of wanting to scream until I sob, and feeling like my life is someone else’s.

I’m sorry if you got lost in the amount of stuff I crammed into there. I just kind of went for it. If I were to try to edit it too much, the whole thing would get deleted. I did this because I felt like I owed it to you all.

I’m going to try to get back into this routine again, so if any of you would like to submit a post, please let me know, I am always open to accept guest posts. And as always, feel free to share and leave a comment below.


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