You're only free when you're asleep, baby.

In the wake of what feels like my world crumbling around me, I am faced with a very difficult question.

What do I want to be?

I thought I had figured this out.

I never much worried about the meaning of life when I was young. It was always a non-issue to me. It's funny, looking back. How often I saw things like that.

At the age of 12 I thought I had my life figured out. I guess we all do.

I thought I understood things. I thought that things like songs and books that didn't resonate me were because I was above them, but they were above me.

"Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage" is a lyric I have heard since my youth. But it never spoke to me until I was an extremely angry young adult realizing that my anger could never itself change my circumstances.

I never understood so many songs. I never understood what it was like to be so angry at an unfair system. To be in love. To be lost. To feel trapped and not by school, or curfew, or lack of a car.

I could get in my focus right now and drive. But where would I go?

California. Chicago. New Orleans.

And then I would be somewhere on the road. Penniless. Unemployed. Lost.

Alone.

I never anticipated I'd be at a point in my life where I had a boyfriend. And we loved each other. And were adults. And still couldn't just get married on a whim.

He asks me what I want to do. Kids, right? But what about before then? What am I going to do before and during and after motherhood? Who am I?

And I don't know.

Anyone who knows me is going to say CAKES. CAKES, IDIOT.

And I like cake.

But I also hate cake.

I am good at cake decorating. Not incredible. Better than you, probably. But it is not my passion. And sometimes it makes me a little angry that people assume that about me. You know me so vaguely that you think all I am, all I can be is a cake decorator.

But how can I blame you? What am I without it? Who are we without our vocations?

I made $11.38 an hour as a decorator. For a full shift I consistently worked 9:30-6. Occasionally 7-3:30. Never closed. Never stayed later than 8pm (except for one very strange overnight shift where I worked from 5pm-1:30am, but we don't talk about that. It was exceptional.). And I got to be creative. And I got to make about $800 a month, part time, after taxes.

I also used to have panic attacks in the morning before work. And those went away, mostly. But sometimes I ran late despite living down the street, because I couldn't get my emotional shit together and be normal. And I had constant anxiety over the inconsistent schedule. Because while 9:30-6 is a constant, I had to come in on unscheduled days regularly. They paid me. I'm not saying I was exploited. It was fine. But it was overwhelming, and since we were only scheduled a week at a time anyway, it was very very stressful to receive a schedule I couldn't trust. On top of that, I highly prioritize having Sundays off of work. If you don't, that's fine, but that's one thing that is very important to me for a number of reasons. And weekends are the busiest time for food. And as a decorator I needed Full Flexibility, which basically meant I had to cross my fingers and trust my boss every week.

I haven't had a full-fledged panic attack since I quit my job a few months ago. I have come close. I have gotten overwhelmed, and I have felt anxious. But I have not had a huge meltdown in a shockingly long time for me.

I loved my job. But I also hated my job. And you need to understand that. It's not that I worked with bad people - I really loved all of my co-workers and enjoyed our time together. And I was patient with customers. And I made beautiful cakes and had a great time. But for a few reasons, it was really hard on me. So I am hesitant to go back, regardless of my mental state.

I have a wedding to pay for, and I am in no shape to work. And i feel helpless. And I feel trapped. And I feel lost.

I have $800 saved up. Even the cheapest weddings in the world are more expensive than that. And certainly the cheapest apartments.

And I used to trust God. Because God has a plan. And God works miracles.

But I trusted God. And I trusted his miracles. And death won anyway. And my faith lost against cancer.

I am in the midst of the biggest depressive episode of my life since I was hospitalized at 15. Which is fairly normal, given the circumstances. But every day is a fight, and so far I am winning, and yet I still feel like a loser. Because people ask me what I do, and I don't know what to tell them.

I don't know how to make money. I don't know how to feel better. I don't know what that thing is going to be that gives me purpose. I always put love in that space, I guess. And now I have it and it's not enough. And when I am married, I will have a lot of time by myself. And I don't know what I'm going to do with it.

And if you tell me to decorate more cakes I am going to snap.

I don't really want to talk about it. But I am continually discouraged by people assuming all is well when I feel like I am drowning.

I love music. But nobody is going to pay me to sing fall out boy in my bedroom. And I love travel. But nobody is going to pay me to go on road trips. I am a flighty, fickle, artistic person. And I feel trapped in a world that measures my worth quantitatively, by the tangible. But I'm not tangible. I am a great mess of feeling and confusion. And maybe this is what it means to be almost 21. Maybe this is what it means to be me. But I am exhausted and discouraged and I have no answers, only fear.

7/24/2015

I am so fatigued, I don't know how to put it into words. I feel like I'm living a dishonest life. I try to deal with so many surface issues. And then they are gone. And I'm still unhappy. So i focus on the next one. But fundamentally i still struggle. Because fundamentally there is something wrong. I don't think i'm good enough. I don't like myself.

I try really hard. And i can say a lot of true things. I truly believe my body is beautiful and valuable just as it is. I also know that i am funny, that i'm a good singer, that i have a way with words, and makeup. But all of those things pale in comparison to the fears that tower over them. The fear. That I'm not good enough, and never will be. That people don't actually like me but are very polite. That people have a better time when i'm not there or talk shit or don't miss me the way that i miss them.

It permeates every relationship i have. Even with dan, lately i am asking him every few minutes if he's upset at me. Because he's sleepy or quiet or i'm just feeling sensitive. And if he were upset with me, it would shatter me.

People get upset sometimes. And people certainly get upset when they are being pestered about their state of mind. And it wouldn't mean he loves me any less. It would just be a feeling, but i can't handle it. Sometimes i get bitter because i feel like i'm always the one apologizing. In reality we always talk things through and meet in the middle. But it is true that the second he or anyone on earth is unhappy with me or in anyway related to me, I am falling over myself to apologize because i want to fix it. I am SUCH a big believer in bandaids, you guys. I have stock in the emotional bandaid business, and I'm set to make a fortune.

If I'm not apologizing, I'm trying to make people laugh. I am funny. I have a sense, I feel the energy of a room in a tangible way, and i can feel their interest wax and wane, and i feel the exact moment to strike, the exact pace at which to tell a story. I started telling a story at work once, and as soon as I started she was smiling, and I felt that timer start and I could feel that i only had 30 seconds to finish that story and have her enjoy it. And I didn't get nervous, but I had to make a conscious effort in that moment to cut and drag pieces of my story so i could tell it just right. Maybe everyone has that sense, I have no idea. I'm not trying to win the special snowflake olympics. I'm just trying to say, I am incredibly good at being funny and engaging. It is a gift of mine. And i abuse the hell out of it.

It's great being able to make people laugh and have a good time. But i use it as a mask, like, 100% of the time. Or, maybe mask is the wrong word. I use it as a crutch. If everyone is laughing, I am okay. I am valuable and I am appreciated and I am worthwhile and people like me.

If you're new at making friends, I highly reccomend being funny and engaging. It's a great way to enhance interactions and make friends with people. It's what I did, but somehow my social skills basically grew in that direction. Exclusively. And it's so great as a socially awkward teen to feel that sense that those people are on your side, that you made them laugh. It's so reassuring, it's almost addictive. And that's the problem I have now. I am a people pleaser, and I want to please the people endlessly. I don't think there's anything wrong with joking as much as I do or close to it, but I don't think I do it for the right reasons.

In between those times of laughter and feeling like everything is okay, I often wrestle with a lot of feelings internally. I'm not good enough, I shouldn't have cut that person off. I didn't mean to... Especially right after something got away from me. I got riled up about something and it stopped being funny, because I was showing too much emotion, or because I was being mean.

Some of the wrestling is not even with words but with feelings. That anxious doom cloud that sometimes hangs around no matter how much fun I'm having and makes the line between mental illness and social fear become so blurry. Some of the feelings do have words, or images. I tell a joke, or I tell a story that I thought was interesting, and I notice that maybe i have told too many stories that day because the interest is more polite than genuine, and so I think profoundly about my darkest temptations, or I just think about and feel that gloomy doom cloud for a while.

I try to listen while others are talking, and normally it comes easily. I genuinely care about what people have to say, and how they feel, and what they think. But I care so much about what they think of me that sometimes I barge in with a story or I am always responding and not giving anyone else any room. I want to share and be validated because I need external affirmation to function.

There comes a point at any party where I start to withdraw, and there are people who think this makes me an introvert, but i'm not sick of people. The thoughts in my head are getting too loud and too frequent and I'm sick of lying. I would love to engage in a real way, but I have this funny mask on and it's only fun for me for so long. But I can't stop it, so I want to leave the interaction. An introvert would crave solitude, but all I want is Dan. Because I can stop with him. And I can tell him I've been super anxious all day and I said this thing and it was so embarrassing, or I almost cried, or whatever i need to get off my chest. And he tells me I was fine and sometimes i believe him.

I don't know if i would love to sit down over a sandwich and tell a friend how i feel lonely and inadequate and want to hurt myself. But i would love for them to care, and i guess i'm afraid that they don't. And i'm afraid that i don't know how to interact that way. I can listen to people and give them pompous empty advice so i feel valuable in the interaction. But i dismiss my own emotions and to have a friend look at me with concern instead of amusement is horrifying. I want it and yet it would confirm in my mind that i am weak.

I am so willing to share about past experiences and even some current experiences, but only as long as i can share my words from on high with the wisdom of my great age and experience, to help others and tell them to be more open. Not to be vulnerable myself.