What's My Story?

I do not know what I am doing.

I do not have a plan for life.

I am confused. Sad. Scared. Unlike the fun inspirational saying, this wanderer is fucking lost. 

I was looking through my Instagram feed when I noticed a slight change. Sitting there staring at me up in the left-hand corner is my avatar waiting for me to upload my story. My story! I sat there staring at the picture of myself stuffing my face with a Stroopwaffle when I began to have a minor panic attack. What is my story?

I have been teetering on life crisis for a while now. Realizing that the job I have been doing for the past decade - a job that many people go to a specialized school and take out a fortune in loans for - is not what I want to do. Luckily I never did take out the loans to go to one of these schools because this industry also loves to teach on the job - why oh why so many waste the money I'll never understand - but I digress. This isn't about the state of post-high-school vocational education. This is about me. I feel stuck, and I am beginning to resent the industry, which is making it even harder for me to respect my place of employment and my co workers. I hate everything about what I do. 

I knew that my employment choice this past decade wasn't a high-paying one, but when we lived in Austin, it was easy to live on a lower wage. Now living in one of the most expensive cities in the US, this field of work isn't worth it. It isn't worth the stress, the hours, how physically demanding it is or its low wage.  

My depression doesn't help either. I want to get up. I want to be an active member of society, but I cannot move. I am frozen in self pity and am utterly terrified. I am just an average girl who is an underachiever and who has perhaps hitched her wagon to her husband's dream. 

So, what is my story?

I have tried a number of things in the past. I have tried and have failed at them all. At the time when I was thinking about doing something/trying this new thing, I would tell myself that I should try it. That failing is better than not trying. But is it really? I know that I can be easily influenced. Was I just a silly puppy dog following someone else who had a dream because I didn't have any of my own?

I am embarrassed with myself. I don't want to be that privileged white girl who has the luxury of a mid-life crisis, but this is where I am. I don't have children, so I don't have the distraction of trying to raise a human being to be productive member of society. Or that I just need to put my head down and work because I need a paycheck because I have someone at home who is counting on me to feed them. I am barely doing this for myself.

I want to cry.

I had always imagined that being an adult would be different. When I was in high school, I couldn't wait until I was an adult because everything would be better. I would have it all figured out and that people would act like adults. But it has all been a lie. I don't have it figured out and work is just an extension of high school where we still have cliques and bullies. Everyone just seems as miserable as adutls. Like we all have failed at life. That reality has set in and this is it. Working crappy jobs while we all get fat.

Sometimes I wonder if I just have the problem where I always want something else. That I am not happy with what I have now. I imagined that when I left high school, college would be better. Or that when we left Minneapolis, Austin would be better. Why can't I be happy with where I am at? 

I think I'll just make some box brownies, eat my weight in said brownie batter and drink a beer while I try and convince myself that I should shower today.

XO