for someone who loves to write, i simply have not been writing enough. it’s as if every cell in my body screams any time i try to touch my fingers to a keyboard. i have all these words in my head; all these stories i want to pull into existence, but not a single ounce of energy to get it done.

writing is probably the only thing i feel like i’m good at, but lately i feel like i shouldn’t even bother to try at all. i am under constant stress all the time, and no matter how hard i try to form habits to alleviate that stress, i just can’t seem to do it. my entire body hurts all the time from pains and sensations that aren’t there and my stomach churns with dread.

it’s this never-ending cycle: depression > no energy > no writing > anxiety because i’m not writing > more depression.

it goes way beyond my personal circumstances—i just have a tendency to hyper-fixate on my personal circumstances because they feel more controllable than the other reasons behind these deep feelings of hopelessness. it feels like there is no future anymore with the way things are going in the world. i have given up on all my dreams except for being an author and even that is slowly disappearing as the days pass.

i know that what i need to do is just write. put my work out there. give myself a chance, but i am just so weakened by this existential anxiety and the exhaustion i feel carrying the weight of the world’s burdens. it’s not easy for me to just shut down and not care as much as i try to. it’s not easy for me to shrug my shoulders and say, “well, it’s out of my hands, so why should i care?”

i’ve never been the type of person to ignore the solution to a problem. the solutions are there and nobody is doing anything about it, and it’s not like i can fucking do anything about it either. i’m a drop in the bucket. i’m a nobody. i literally can’t even get full time at the company i’ve been working at for six years. the only thing i could do was create this stupid fucking website in the hopes that someone would look and maybe read my shit writing.

everyday i get worse. i didn’t think a greater sense of hopelessness could exist, but i suppose that’s why they call it a pit. only this pit goes on, and on, and on, and on for an infinite distance. there is no rock bottom because you can only get lower. there’s no cry for help loud enough that can reach anybody because there is nothing anyone can do for me.

if my financial situation improved, maybe i’d be better for awhile. maybe things would be easier. but what happens when it no longer becomes enough to pull myself out of debt, if that ever even happens? the world is still shitty and it’s only getting shittier with nothing i can do to change it.

let’s be real though, with the way my life has gone thus far, the chances of me even getting out of debt is a fat fucking chance. i’m sitting here, more likely to become a successful author than get hired full time, and becoming an author is already insanely difficult. do you see where my dilemma is?

and i hate that all i can write about is being miserable. i hate that i can’t seem to find the energy to create something. i only have the energy to fantasize about how to get out of my predicament before being hit by disappointment square in the chest.

i just feel like a total loser. i had so many dreams and intentions for myself growing up and accomplished none of them. i can’t even get to the bare minimum of getting a full time job because i’m just such a fucking loser with no significant skills, no education, and nothing remotely desirable. the only thing i can do is cry, and whine, and complain, only to wake up in the morning and do it all over again.

i’m trying really hard to make it to 30. i’m trying so unbelievably hard to hit that milestone, something that has always felt impossible to me. right now, the only thing keeping me going are my pets. i can’t disappear until they’ve all passed, so i can only hope that things improve by the time they all go.

and i have no intention of taking on anymore pets when they go because why keep this pointless rat race going?

it makes me sad because the way i feel likely hurts my boyfriend, but i can’t stop feeling it. nothing is getting better, though his company and support helps make it bearable since, well, i have every intention on sticking it out for the sake of my pets.

first step to just making it by is improving my financial situation, but that feels impossible. i’ve been suffering from financial strains for my entire life and all my best efforts have been complete failures. these feelings of worthlessness, helplessness, hopelessness…it’s unending and i can’t fucking write.

i can’t write; the only thing within my control to just try has become impossible. i’m so tired. i just cry all the time. i’ve said this before, but it feels like the stress is going to kill me. i may suffer from severe health issues because of this in the future, and guess who won’t have paycheck protection? ME! I WON’T! BECAUSE I CAN’T GET FULL TIME STATUS!

i hate that i’m complaining. i hate that i’m sobbing while writing this. and what’s insane is i’m screaming for help, begging for a chance to get out of this hole, and instead, i get criticized for being stressed. i’m not allowed to be angry because i should be grateful for the bare minimum of having even just a part time job in this economy.

stop fucking asking me, “how can we support you,” when you keep ignoring what support i need from you.

can’t exactly tell them, “hey guys, i’m on the verge of killing myself because i’m so stressed about money all the time and i’ve been rejected nine times for full time in the past six years.” that’ll certainly net me an expeditious grippy socks vacation and destroy me financially since, REMEMBER, i don’t get paid medical leave! haha!

sometimes i think that i’ll have to actually attempt for them to even just feel guilty about not awarding me a full time status change—how fucked up is that?

this shit feels fucking endless. pure suffering for no fucking reason.

i can’t help but think that i must deserve this. all of my silent sins over the years, death by a thousand cuts. my friends always say that bad shit just fucking happens and for no reason at all, but goddamn, it feels like i was born with bad luck given all the shitty circumstances i’ve found myself in.

like, listen to this: the other day, i went to the gym. i’m trying hard to lose weight since it’s very likely my situation will improve if i get thinner, given that the world treats you better the more attractive you are. anyway, i went to the gym and two of the three treadmills i attempted to use broke down on me. i go to work later that day—the system on my work iPad stopped working, but nobody else experienced the same glitches i was getting for my shift. then, my work computer stopped working! only mine! nobody else’s!

i know, i know: “amelia, that’s just confirmation bias.”

these are stupid, petty little things, but it’s the petty little things that reinforce the big shitty things that have happened to me throughout my life. misfortune follows me everywhere i go.

this year, i had three opportunities to get into a better financial position, and each opportunity was pulled before i could even try. can you imagine how awful that feels? i wasn’t even able to try.

“rejection is redirection.”
“the universe has other plans for you.”
“this just isn’t your path.”

then what the fuck am i supposed to do?

write—okay, and if i write, then fail, what do i do?

i just don’t know. i know it sounds like i’m just laying down and doing fuck all, but i am doing everything i can right now to keep myself together. i’m going back to school in hopes of completing my degree, but i’m starting to think that was a mistake. i’m taking math right now and i am so bad at algebra, i most likely will not pass the midterm nor final exams.

my only saving grace is that i was able to cashflow this semester because my grants and an surprise scholarship took care of the tuition. i only had to pay $160 for the books and i’ll easily get that money back from my job’s tuition reimbursement. so if i do fail, at least i didn’t pay for it, but the goal is to not fail.

but i decided that, if i do fail, i’m just going to ditch the degree idea. yes, i’m a quitter, but college is becoming more and more unnecessary. plus, what the fuck am i going to do with an english degree? shove it up my ass?

i’ve been saying this for years, because all i do is fucking complain, but i just need a shot. i just need someone to give me a chance. such a request has fallen upon deaf ears, so what would make this any different?

sorry for such a bleak post. it’s likely no one will read this, but if you do, i am sorry. maybe tomorrow will be better, or maybe i’ll be worse. i don’t know, but i guess we’ll find out eventually.