Listen to me. Don't hear me.

I don’t know where else the fuck to post this to. But I need to rant about my life because no one is going to listen to me.

It’s almost 2 am. I should’ve been asleep 3 fucking hours ago.

But once again I’m wide awake because of all this pain that I have.

Why is so hard for people to care about people’s problems that aren’t their own? Like, what makes that so fucking difficult?

I don’t fucking get it.

It seems like all I do is care about the people around me.

But I’m not allowed to have problems of my own. Oh, hell no. What’s wrong with you, Chelsea? You’re working your dream job at Disneyland, living in Southern California, and have a room all to yourself. You have so much wonderful stuff, what could possibly be fucking wrong with you, you ungrateful little prick? Nothing. Everyone else’s problems mean more than you ever will. You’re not important. You never will be. Your one purpose in life is for you to take care of everyone else around you and care more about them then anyone else could possibly reciprocate.

What about the fact that right now I feel like it would be easier for me to kill myself then anything else? Maybe I ripple the ocean that is everyone else’s lives too much.

What about the fact that my dream job doesn’t give a fuck that I graduated with a BFA and that I need to make rent. What about the fact that I was told for years to go to school for my dream, and you’ll never be unhappy, and now everyone tells me that I fucked up. I should be proud of my degree, and not have to cover up what I went to school for. Creative Writing, what an incredible waste of 200000$.

What about the fact that because I work my dream job I can’t afford to stay in Southern California much longer? What about the fact that my mom is yelling at me because I have to charge gas on her credit card so I can get back and forth to this dream job because I can’t afford it on my own.

What about the fact that I’m probably going to have to move back to Arizona is a big thought on my mind right now? What about the fact that I know if I’m forced to move back there that I’m actually, literally going to kill myself. Seriously.

It’s not like I want to kill myself. It’s more the fact that I just wish I weren’t alive anymore. Like I genuinely don’t feel like I’m an important enough person. I don’t feel like anyone would care about me either way?

Like, fuck. I just want someone to listen to me for once.

The past few weeks have been me taking care of everyone else’s problems. Roommates fighting over a parking spot that they have to share? oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve been walking back and forth from the Office Depot without a single complaint every single night for four months. But I’m selfish for asking for it on days I’m off at 130am.

Oh you’re struggling under the stress of work? Oh, I’m so sorry. Please tell me what it’s like to be overworked and under appreciated because I sure as hell don’t know after 3 years of this company where I’ve been working my ass off and still don’t seem to be good enough to get scheduled more than 12 hours a week. So much for my hard work.

Your parents are dicks to you? Oh gee, what’s that like? My dad is dead and my mom spent my college tuition money on a new car and then called me selfish for asking for money for food so now I just don’t eat.

Oh, you’re having problems making the small amount of rent that you pay to live in your childhood room with your parents? I’m so sorry. I wish that my mom lived close enough for me to live with her, but instead I share a house with 3 roommates, 2 of which I can’t fucking stand and didn’t chose to live with in the first place because I was forced into this house because my boyfriend broke up with me and I had no other choices. Oh, and I can’t afford to make rent even though it’s the least amount I’ve ever had to pay for a place of my own. 

Oh you’re feeling ostracized from your friend? Wow. That’s sad. I only sit at home alone every single fucking day, wishing I was hanging out with someone, anyone at all. And that every time I make plans with someone, they find their own time to be more important than my own and so they leave me high and dry and alone.

But I’m the selfish one. God, Chelsea. Why are you such a fucking screw up?

I’m so tired of being alone when it doesn’t convenience others to be around me.

I’m taking care of everyone else, and no one wants to hear my own struggle. The fact that I’m losing my battle with my depression. And the fact that I don’t know what to do about it. Medication only made it worse. My insurance doesn’t cover psychologists. I don’t know what to do, and I’m afraid that the bad days are gonna keep going on forever?

And it frustrates me because I was doing so good for so long. I fought through the medication when it made me lower than low. I found my sense of humor again. I made it so that I was able to stand on my own two feet again. I thought I beat it.

And then all of a sudden one day I woke up and I was drowning, and my body was refusing to even try to fight back anymore. And I don’t know what happened. And I don’t know what to do and I’m afraid that things are gonna get worse and I won’t be able to do anything.This disease is trying to kill me. I don’t want to kill myself, but I keep feeling like it would be easier if I weren’t alive.

All i want is for someone to sit and talk with me. And actually make me talk because they want to hear it. Not because they feel obligated to because I sit there and listen to them. Because with all of them I keep myself quiet because they’re only going to turn the conversation to themselves and list why their problems mean more than mine. 

All I want is for someone to sit here while I cry, like I am right now, and hold me. And tell me that everything will be okay until I believe them. I want someone to hold me until I fall asleep from crying and still be there when I wake up in the morning. 

I haven’t felt that way in months. I lost what I needed just when I needed it most. But, no, I was and am selfish for needing that from another person. God it would be nice to have someone to be there for you during your depression. It would be nice to be able to trust another human being.

I can’t explain why my depression came back in the first place. Maybe it was moving so many times. Maybe it was the fact that I realized how much of a screw up I was. Maybe it was because the weather was rainy and the clouds infiltrated that part of my brain that I had packed away so tightly for so long.

I lost everyone I hold deep. I have that problem. I lose everything I ever love right when I need it most.

My depression tells me I have no friends. Tells me that no one will ever love me back because if all these boys could leave you so easily then what would ever make you keepable. That if all my friends can literally say “I don’t want to be your friend anymore” and walk away just like Kristen did in the playground the week after Kindergarten ended, then why should anyone ever want to be around me, ever?

This isn’t me. That’s the thing. I know who I am. I’m a hopeful person, who never gives up. All I’ve ever dreamed of is the day when I will love truly and be loved in return. I dream of a world where everything works out eventually. I’m a funny person, who will always be the first to say something witty and make a joke to brighten someone’s day. That’s who I am.

Not this. Not this person stuck in the rain cloud of depression. But then, maybe, I think, just maybe this is who I actually am. This depressed state could be the real me while the funny, hopeful, loving Chelsea is a figment of my imagination and I will never be able to grasp onto her no matter how hard I try. I don’t deserve that life. Maybe I did something to warrant this sad, depressed state I find myself eternally fighting. 

Maybe no one cares about my problems because they aren’t important.

Maybe no one cares about me because I’m not important. Because I never will be. 

And what sucks is that I know I’ll get an outpouring of love from this post, with people trying to check up on me. And what’s worse, is I know when they ask how I am, and I will answer “Okay” (because that’s all I’ll ever say until they really push and question) and they’ll slowly start to believe me. And I know that in 2 weeks, everyone is going to go back to treating me like the piece of shit I guess I always am.

Because I am Chelsea. And me and my depression are not important. Because a girl with this many problems does not deserve neither love nor someone holding her as she cries.

Because I don’t want to kill myself, but it would be so much easier if I weren’t alive.

Because maybe the real Chelsea will never come back no matter how much I try.

Tell Them That You Care

I've been sitting on writing for quite some time.

And then Monday happened.

I guess I'm still not over the shock of it all. Robin Williams has died. And I understand that media is blowing it all up and you're all probably tired of hearing about it. Fuck, I'm tired of hearing about. And usually I don't let what the media focuses on get to me...but this time it's different.

You've probably heard it by now. Robin Williams, classic funny man, killed himself after suffering years of depression. I didn't have even a clue that that was the case until this unsettling news happened. I'm sure most of you didn't. But it is true, and he suffered it for years, just like so many of us do. And now, finally, the news and the world is beginning to realize that even the happiest people can be the saddest.

And all I can think is that it's just plain sad.

It took THIS for it to be put on spotlight? Millions will mourn the loss of Robin Williams, a man who made such a positive impact on everyone in the English speaking world and far beyond that. Millions will mourn the loss of someone who died from a disease of the mind. And because of that, those of us who have been in hiding for years begin to peek their heads out, and say "hey, I'm suffering too, validate me and my feelings."

And that makes me so mad.

Over the course of the last 7 years, and especially the last four months, I have been told time after time again that I just need to be more happy. That I just need to put a smile on my face and everything else will follow suit. And it makes me so angry because that obviously doesn't work. When someone tells me that positive attitude makes all the difference, I want to punch them in the throat because, to me, it seems as if they're saying "Chelsea, your feelings aren't important. And even if they are true, I don't want to deal with your problems. Your problems don't matter. You don't matter. Pretend to be happy and then we can all be happy ignoring your problems."

Here's the thing that most people don't realize. I AM happy. I feel blessed everyday for my friends, for my family, and for all the opportunities that I have. The problem is when you pair that with depression is that there is a disconnect between happy and sad. They don't work on the same emotional level. It's possible to be wonderfully happy and absolutely miserable all at the same time. It's taken me years to realize, and will take me much longer to accept.

Here's the thing, world. Here's the thing, "friends".

I am happy.

But I'm happy in the way that Robin was happy. The way that a new mother with PPD is happy. The way that the artist is happy.

We are all overjoyed at the blessings of our life, but there are times where we become so overwhelmed by emotions that we cannot control that all we can do is sit in bed with the covers over our head and cry, so that the world cannot see the lost sparkle in our eyes. We want the world to see how absolutely happy we are, and keep the emotions from spilling out.

But that isn't healthy. I was told once that no one should have to go through cancer alone. That they need someone to rely on to be there for them. But I was also told by the same person that talking to other people and having them help your depression is called dependence.

Why is one disease ok but the other one isn't? Why is my disease less valid than another? And does that really work? Do you think that things would have been different if Robin had been open about his disease? Do you think there would have been an overwhelming amount of support put out towards him?

I think so.

But that wasn't the case. He kept it in. And he imploded. Just like people of all ages do. From the teenager, to the mother, to the old grandfather. No one's depression, no one's disease is worse than anyone else's. No one deserves to be mourned less because of how they died. No one deserves to be mourned more because of who they were in society.

And now me, and everyone who has been dealing with depression all this time, are finally standing up, shouting. Shouting for someone to listen.

"Listen! Listen to me! Don't let this happen to me! Don't let death be my only escape. Don't make me feel like I am worthless because of something that I cannot control. Don't make me feel guilty for a sadness I cannot control. Do not make me suppress it. Help me. Listen to me. If you say you're there for me, prove it. Prove that you care because in my mind, no one cares."

That's what I'm trying to say. It's what I've been trying to say.

Things have been getting better for me. I took control of my own life about 3 or 4 weeks ago. Pulled myself off the medication that was trying to drown me, trying to make me feel worse. I took a stand and am refusing to let it get me down.

While I just spent the last several hundred words bashing this idea, positive thought does do some good. It won't completely change anything, but being able to fight the demons and having the stability of mind to do so does help. I'm trying to beat my disease into remission, a personal chemo if you will. I am standing strong, but even the strong stumbling. I am stumbling but I am still walking tall.

That's how I make it through the day.

The news of Williams' death struck me at a hard time. Three years ago on Saturday was when my father passed away. It's amazing how it gets both easier and harder as time goes on. It gets easier to treat everyday as life is going on like normal, but harder the more you miss him. And goodness do I miss him. But we march on because that is the only choice we are given.

In wake of all the events of the last week, I would like to remind everyone to hold their loved ones close. I would like for everyone to say exactly what's on their mind, and to tell the people that they care for that they love them.

Life is short, life is precious. You never know when you speak to someone if it will be the last time you'll ever see them.

If you're afraid to lose someone, tell them.

Hold them close, and never let go.

It's easy to walk away from something, but much harder to come back to it. You never know when life is going to throw you a curveball, and you never know when it might be too late.

Tired

I really don't know what more to say.

I'm tired of trying. Really tired. I just want to give up.

I'm tired of always trying to please the people around me that way they think the best of me. I'm tired of never feeling good enough. Like, ever. I'm tired of people yelling at me because they don't get their way while I'm standing by miserably living each and every moment of my life.

I'm so tired of it all.

Like, fuck man.

I'm tired of having this stupid disease of the mind. I'm tired of having it affect me so much. I'm tired of it whispering evil thoughts into my mind just when it was finally starting to be at peace, like right now. I'm tired of never being good enough and never being wanted. I'm tired of letting other people get to me. 

I'm tired of having no control of it.

I'm tired of being on stupid medication for my stupid fucked up mind. I'm tired of the meds making me worse, making me think more evil thoughts, making me feel the highs super high and the lows super low, making me rather wish I was dead than living this stupid excuse for a life.

I'm tired of thinking I would rather be dead than have to suffer through another day. I'm tired of having as much control over my thoughts and actions as I do over the weather. I'm tired of people not understanding this. I'm tired of having to go to the Internet for my problems because I feel like no one cares about me and my stupid problems.

I'm tired of feeling like my problems are stupid simply because they are different from others. I'm tired of feeling stupid because I am depressed even thought I am a middle age white girl who lives in one of the most beautiful places in the country and works at the Happiest Place on Earth. I'm tired of having people compare my problems to other problems, to their own problems. And I'm tired of having them dumb mine down simply because it is a disease of the mind and not of the body.

At what point does being tired go away?

Does it go away when I finally take enough sleeping pills and pain killers to make everything go away? Does it go away when I fake being happy so that the people around me are happy? Does it go away when I finally give up and give in and let it consume me? Does it go away tomorrow? Does it come back the next day?

Does it ever go away?

I wish I knew. I wish that this feeling would go away just as much as I wish every day was cloudy and rainy and beautiful. I wish this feeling would go away just as much as I wish that I would be in love again. I wish this feeling would go away just as much as I wish that I could bring my dad back from the dead so at least one person would be there to comfort me in just the right way.

I wish all my feelings would completely go away forever.

The feelings of sadness and rage and being tired, yes. But also the feelings of happiness, joy and love. Because if those went away than maybe the negative feelings, or a lack of feelings all together, wouldn't hurt so bad. I wish I didn't feel so many feelings.

All I want is for this all to just end.

Reflection Staring Out

Chelsea posts a selfie on Instagram.

Caption: "Feeling pretty today."

8 likes.

0 comments.

Jenny Jennerson posts a selfie on Instagram.

Caption: "Sick in bed today. I'm hideous."

154 likes.

17 comments, 16 of which tell Jenny how beautiful she is, 1 hoping she'd feel better.

This has been my entire existence up until this point. 21 years of only 8 likes whereas those around me seem to be flocked with admiration.

Are you ready for story time?

Growing up, I was the fat kid. Of course, the fat kid never realizes she's the fat kid until someone points it out to her. In the first grade, some kid pulled my seat out from under me at the computer desk. I fell on my butt and he and my class laughed. He called me a beached whale. Kids can be so cruel.

My weight did not decrease as life went on. In seventh grade I changed over from sweat pants ("only fat kids wear sweat pants") to jeans. I thought it was average that I was a size 15 at age 11. In the 7th grade, on a day that I looked especially pretty, trying to impress the boy that I had my eye on, I got nervous and ate all the food I could in the cafeteria. Halfway through the class I sat next to him, I threw up french fries all over the floor and my clothes.

Later that same year, 7th grade, in an effort to keep with government regulated Physical Education, they weighed every girl in the class. At age 12, I weighed in at 179 pounds and a height of five foot, one inch. I ran the slowest mile in the class, clocking in at 15:39, every step aching my legs. Misery found me. The only days I felt better were the days that I was picked up from school by my dad, with a soda and a boxed cherry pie.

Halfway through the summer after that year, I realized I needed to make a change. I cut out soda. I cut out the pies. I cut and cut and cut. I took my dogs for walks.

I returned to school in 8th grade at 160 pounds. But still that year I was not considered pretty enough to be a lead in the school play. I was Pageboy 3. By the time 9th grade rolled around, I was 145 pounds. Things were looking up, I felt healthier. I got two lead roles that year.

In 10th grade, after suffering a year of depression, I was 125 pounds and my mile was 10:54. But despite all this growth, I was still not pretty enough for the guy that I liked to even pay attention to me. No one told me I was pretty. I was Pageboy 2 this time. Misery again.

The end of my senior year found me at 113 pounds. Five foot, one and 113 pounds and a 9:13 minute mile. No one to love me, still. And no one who admired by beauty.

I remember the first time in my life that I ever felt pretty. It was Senior prom. I arrived in my A-line, black and white ball gown, with my hair up high in a $50 hair style. You could see my shoulder blades and my arms didn't jiggle when I walked. I walked into prom and walked around the second floor with my friends, only to have every eye on me. Five people told me I looked beautiful, and just stared at me with awe.

As if they couldn't believe that ugly little Chelsea could actually look like a beautiful woman.

For the first time in my life, I felt pretty.

That feeling is rare in me.

All throughout my first two years of college, I felt anything but pretty. My weight escalated again, eventually finding me at 135 pounds at the beginning of my Junior year. I had decided by this point that beauty was more than skin deep, something I still wholeheartedly believe.

I am beautiful. Even if I'm not always pretty.

At the end of my Junior year, that's when I felt pretty again. It was a more than average day, a wonderful day. At one point, a selfie was taken of me and the person I was with at the pier at the beach. And when I saw that picture, I was blown away by how pretty I looked in it. How pretty I felt. It's amazing how the people you're with can make you feel as if you're the most beautiful girl in the world.

Since then, the feeling was fleeting from now and then. And then a few days ago, having lost some 25 pounds in the last few months, something happened. I went to work, wearing a new eyeliner and put a smile on my face. The first person I saw just looked at me and said "Wow, you look really nice today." I'm brushed them off as if they were making fun of me, something I'm afraid happens more than not. But, here's the weird part: Every single person I worked with that day called me really pretty. Some tried to figure out what was different about me. And the answer was nothing. I am still me.

But I felt pretty. My ego boosted.

And this happened again the next day. And the day after. For three days in a row, every single person that I work with has called me pretty. And I don't know how to take it.

What has changed with me?

I'm the same old Chelsea.

But for some reason the reflection that I've always seen in the mirror seems to be reflecting outwards. More than pretty, lately I feel beautiful.

I still only have 8 likes, but sometimes life is about more than just likes.

it's about self-worth.

Gooooooal

The title is ironic because I am morally opposed to the World Cup this year. But that's a different story entirely.

This blog actually has some purpose to it right now though.

As we all know, that this recent graduate has absolutely no idea what she wants to do with her life. I have no direction, other than the goal of being a wife and a mother. But I've gotten to thinking lately that that can't be all that's in it for me. For some reason or other, I actually have to do something with my life.

I have to prove myself.

I have to make my daddy proud and be better than my mother before me.

Isn't that every parent's wish? To see their children do better than them. It's already for me--despite not having children yet, or even a person who wishes to procreate with me. I want my children to do better than me, even though I am so young. I want them to have everything that I have not been able to have these past 21 years, including a fighting chance.

But in the mean time, I need to do something for me.

As we all know, I've been misguided for the past few years, having gone through a Creative Writing program that ends with "well, none of my students for XYZ number of years I've been teaching have ever had their works published". Seriously. That's the almost literal words of one of my professors on one of my last classes of 4 years of working towards this goal.

That's such a hard way to end at a school you seemingly wasted $200,000 of student loans on. And then when you graduate, you realize that you have 10 years to pay off all that money plus interest, and seemingly no job options because you definitely chose the wrong major to make any money off of.

I'd be lying if I said I haven't hyperventilated over this idea more than once.

But I'd be lying if I said that writing is truly what I want to do with my life at this point.

It isn't. Not anymore. I had 4 years of being torn down, being told I wasn't good enough by my peers, given little constructive feedback from my professors who would rather watch up grow on our own accord. I've been forced to write, rewrite, and rewrite the rewrite until I'm so fed up with the story becoming different from what I intended it to be. I've given up a piece of me. If anything I need a break. Or to write something for myself other than a blogpost.

Which is one of my new goals. I've decided to start writing at least a page a day of a new story until I finish. I've asked my friends to give me a prompt and I'm just going to start. I will start and then every day I will post it. If I don't, feel free to bust my balls. Feel free to call me out and say "Chelsea, you stupid whore. Write dammit!" I'm going to write a page a day until I finish something. And from there, we'll see where life leads.

But even if I do become a writer, that's not really a career. It can't be right now. I need some sort of goal in order to achieve something.

Which has led me to thinking about my passions. I've always said that I want to make a difference in the world. If only for something small. Then I began to think of all the changes at work that I'd love to see happen. Then I began thinking of all the input I hear from people I work with that rarely make their ways to the tops of the ranks because of a number of different reasons. Then I began thinking that someone needs to listen to these ideas, and maybe Disneyland might be a better place to visit and to work at.

Be the change you wish to see in the world.

I've had this goal before, but I have lost touch with it, in and out, refusing to believe that I'm destined for this type of life. But the more I work, the more I realize that it is inevitable. My goals have solidified themselves today, at some point when I was sitting on the toilet.

I want to be a manager at Disney. More than that, I want to someday be the President of Disneyland.

That's a job. That's a possibility. That's a goal.

This is what I'm setting my sights on. Me and thousands of others. But, someone has to do it. Why not me? I'm strong enough, and I care enough.

There was a quote that I heard yesterday. "If you know what you ultimately want in life then every decision you make from this point on must be in service of that goal."

I'm making this dream my new goal. I'm going to do everything I can in order to achieve it. But I constantly must remind myself, that it is all about the journey, not the destination.

Maybe this will happen, maybe it won't. But I'm sure as hell going to enjoy life up every step of the way. As long as I have a goal, I have something to work towards. Something to fulfill myself with. But I'm not going to get upset if not everything ends up exactly as I plan it. I'm going to say "yes" whenever I can, instead of fighting against it, because you never know what's going to happen. Life is crazy and as soon as you get comfortable it tips you down the stairs and forces you to climb them all over again.

It might happen from where I'm at right now, or it might take time and a new approach. I might have to leave behind what makes me comfortable and start something new.

Who knows?

I certainly don't.

No one does.

And if you do, you should really tell me some things about my life that I'm curious about.

Emergency Contact: [Blank]

I don't really know where I want to go with this.

The last two weeks have literally been some of the worst two weeks of my life.

Do you ever get the feeling that everything would be better that if just one thing worked out, then everything else would fall into place and seem to suck less (or that you're at least in a better position to take it more positively)? That's where I'm at right now. 

Or how about the feeling that if you were able to just have a hug, a cuddle, and a long cry, you would feel a million times better? That's also where I'm at right now. All I want is to cry. And cry. And cry.

And I guess I have been. Especially the last two days, I have been crying nonstop. When I wake up, as I get ready, during my drive, on my breaks, when I get home, as I lay in the bathtub wanting to drown, and as I go to sleep. That's all I've been able to do.

And I hate that too.

I didn't used to be a sad person. Yes, I've suffered from depression for 7 years, but I haven't been sad. I haven't often thought that giving up on life would be the better alternative. I haven't felt so lost.

I've accomplished so many great things lately. I graduated college. Became a trainer at work. Moved. All wonderful things, and yet they seem to mean nothing to me. And I don't get why. I want them to mean something to them, but when I think of my accomplishments, I think of them as just another action that I'm not able to feel.

I can't feel any of these things no matter how hard I try. They seem to mean nothing to me. All I keep thinking is that I don't have anyone to share these accomplishments with. And what's the point of accomplishing great things if you can't go home and celebrate with people who matter. If you don't have someone to go home and cry to? I was in a car crash the other day and it hit me that I didn't have anyone to help me. What if I had gone to the hospital? No one would have known.

Emergency Contact: [Blank]

Most days lately, I contemplate just moving back home. Giving up on my life here, and moving back home with my mom, the only person in the world I have. But then I scoff at that because I would be miserable at home. I hate home, more than I hate life itself.

I've sacrificed so much over my life time to make it where I am now, and even if it feels like it doesn't matter, I'm not about to just let it go and run home.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

I don't understand that. I am a good person. I've sacrificed so much. I've worked so hard. And yet nothing I work towards seems to work out in my favor. I am always hurt. I am always laughed at. I am always left feeling empty. 

I want to give up.

I just want the pain to stop.

My body has been nonstop killing me the last two weeks. I've had multiple 100* degree fevers, have passed out twice, have thrown up multiple times, suffered three migraines, have literally shit everything in my system out at once, and my spine is committing suicide as we speak. I know I should go to the doctor about this all, but I am too scared, particularly because I have found a lump that I need examined. I don't want to find out the worst. I don't want to know the end is near.

Emergency Contact: [Blank]

Mentality is everything. I'm 100% convinced that cancer only hurts after you find out you have it. Cancer only kills when it's diagnosed and you try to get rid of it. My dad wasn't sick until he found out he had an invader in his lungs. By the end of the summer he was gone.

These are the things I think about on Father's Day at the end of 2 terrible weeks in this life. 

I don't want to die. But living is hard. I don't want to leave behind friends and family, but I wish I had them to enjoy while I'm here.

Emergency Contact: [Blank]

I wish people would stop asking me what I want to do with my life now that I've graduated. Half of the truth is that I don't know. I'm 21 and I'm still young and I have no idea how to take care of myself and make sure I eat breakfast, let alone try and figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. It's too hard and I can't do it. I have nothing to feel passionate about anymore.

The other half of the truth is that I had a plan. I knew what I was going to do and it was going to make me the happiest person alive. I was going to get married and have kids. That is what would make me happiest. But that's not acceptable from a young woman who earned her BFA in a very short time. It's not like that was all I had planned, but the difference is that nothing else would have mattered as much so long as I had someone in my life to share it with. That was all I cared about. I could've been a writer, or a lawyer, or a librarian or a teacher, or a manager at Disneyland and been perfectly happy, so long as I had someone to love me and stay by my side.

I wish none of this mattered. 

I wish it were easy for me to put a smile on my face, and go on with my day as if nothing else mattered.

But it isn't easy. Nothing good in life comes easy. I know full well that even if that one thing in life did go well all of a sudden, it still wouldn't fix everything else that's wrong with me.

But it certainly would help. 

A hug is all I need. A hug, a cuddle, and a good cry might not fix my problems, but it sure as well would help me feel better.

All I want is someone to fill in that blank beside Emergency Contact and remind me that I am not alone.

Power is Knowledge

I've been on a binge lately.

My problem here is that I'm tired of people with power. This being said, I'm one person with some form of power. But I'm not fed up with me. I'm not fed up with people like me. I'm fed up with the people with power who decide to start believing that they're so much better than everyone else.

I'm sure that there's a statistic out there about the number of people in the world that will go corrupt when they are given power. My guess is that about 90% of people with power will go corrupt at some point, start believing like they are God.

Ok, I Googled it. There is no statistic on the first page. So we're going to go with 90%.

90% of people who are given power will go corrupt.

I tread this ground carefully. I'm in a position of power right now. I've worked extremely hard for a number of years to get to this point. And even if I stand in it, I begin to wonder if it was worth all that hard work.

Do you ever have those moments where you want something so badly, but once you do get that thing, it's not as amazing as you thought it would be? I don't say that I hate what I'm doing. Not in the slightest. I love it.

I love it because I feel like I can actually make a difference. Isn't that what working hard and having power is for? Making a positive difference in the world around you?

But too often today, I see the opposite.

I see the people who should be making the difference still fighting it out, trying to prove their worth by jumping through worthless hoops that will mean nothing. I see people who aren't mature enough for their power, but who want to make a difference, getting their power, but getting too swept up in the game that they had been playing before.

That game ends.

At least it should.

But too many people are still playing that game, or better yet, trying to get others to play the game because they think it's fun. People with power love to be idolized. They love to think of themselves as something greater than the sack of fat, flesh, bone, and water that they actually are. They put themselves on a pedestal and then expect others to do the same.

Remember when the whole Bill Clinton/ Monica Lewinsky thing happened? Cuz I don't. I was a baby at that point. Bill Clinton, a great man, a fearless leader, got too swept up with his power and position as president that he loved the feeling of being idolized. He toyed around, got loyal followers, and was able to watch them perform like circus animals.

I see that happening so much to people I know and care about now.

And all I have to say is that that is bullshit. Absolute bullshit.

There is no need to force people who want to be doing something great to do a meaningless task. If you're someone who's trying to work their way up in the world, my biggest advice is not to let people take advantage of you. It can happen in a variety of different ways. They can tell you that you need to chase your tail round and round in circles and that is the only true way to prove your worth. Sometimes, you might be pressured into uncomfortable situations, physically, sexually, or mentally. GET YOURSELF OUT of that situation. Immediately. If you're feeling pressured and abused, is that really something that you want to be a part of?

But next, I want to talk to the people like me, the people in power. But I want to talk to the other 10% of people.

Do you remember when you were young, before you had your powers? Do you remember all of the changes you wanted to make in the system? Do you remember thinking "man, if I get up there, all of this is going to change"?

Dude, why haven't you fucking changed everything?

If you noticed something needed a change a long time ago, chances are, it still needs to change. If you've jumped through the hoops to prove yourself and become a person of power, but you haven't done a thing to change these situations, then there is something wrong with you. Something so completely wrong. You can preach one thing and practice another.

But more importantly, to those of you who have lost their way, I want you to remember this: YOU ARE NOT GOD. YOU ARE A SACK OF MEAT, COMPROMISED OF FLESH, BONE, AND WATER. THAT'S IT. You are no greater than anyone else within a 100 miles of yourself. In fact, sometimes you are worse.

If you hold a position of power and you decide to make other people jump through hoops for your own enjoyment, you are a disgrace. If you have ever forced someone to physically, mentally, or SEXUALLY please you, telling them that that's the only way up to the top, then fuck you. I've been that person, sexually abused, being told that that is how you make it up with the big boys, and it's the worst. Like, actually. Because you feel like it's a trap.

If you hold a position of power, and you are a sleazebag, then you need to take a step back and reevaluate your life. If you think it's funny to make fun of people for being somehow "less" than you, if you think it's amusing to put people in uncomfortable sexual situations because you have some sort of fetish, then you deserve nothing more than the deepest pit of hell. If you've let the people around you change who you are, you need to fucking remember who the fuck you were. You need to remember the person you were, the person full of hope, and you need to get the hell away from the people around you and become that person again.

I repeat: You are nothing more than a sack of meat compromised of flesh, bone and water.

The person next to you, no matter who they are, no matter who you are, is exactly the same: A sack of meat compromised of flesh, bone and water.

The first step is acceptance.

What I really, REALLY don't get is why we, as the people who are somehow "less" than those of power (again, we're all made up of the same inside stuff) accept this type of treatment. I don't get it. We don't try and do something about it because "that's just the way he is" or "that's the way the world works". We sit idly by while people who are corrupt try to corrupt us. And we let them. All because we remain silent.

Does that make us corrupt in a way? By silence? I'm not sure.

All I know is that with what I have, I am not going to change myself. I absolutely refused to stop fighting for what I believe in and to make the changes that I see fit right now. Because if I noticed them to be a legitimate problem now, then there is no doubt in the world that it actually is.

And I will stop at nothing to get this done. Unlike the other 90%.

#endrant #butnotreally