That’s what I need, wise words for a confused soul.
It’s like I live as a hamster or some other type of rodent with a wheel… wheel of life. Everything starts up again. Neverending. Repetitive. So here’s something familiar… I have to apply for a job. Do I have issues with jobs? Or commitment? Or just fear in general? I don’t know. Here’s the scenario. My cousin might come to California. She might stay with us. She might stay in my room. Yes, the room I no longer share with my sister for one year now. It’s the room I’ve filled with art supplies. One year ago, I was gunho with her coming because my life were all in boxes in the garage. I didn’t have shit out and about. One year later, everything has its place and I’m still needing storage to this day! I don’t want her here because yeah, she gets to start her life but my own life gets displaced. Does that make sense? If she moves, I’ll most definitely have to pack all my art stuff. I don’t care about making space in the closet. She can have half. That’s fine. They’re just clothes. What I’m talking about are my art supplies that are already having a difficult time finding a home within my room. If those get packed, what’ll I do about my art? I get moved to the living room, the dining room, or I stop. That’s how it is. June’s life is packable. No. No, it isn’t. I mean, think about it. If I didn’t have an art life then because they were all in boxes, what’s going to happen this time? Same darn thing. What makes anyone think there’ll still be space if my cousin comes? If I didn’t have space when I was with my sister then, now that I’ve had the room for a year, I wouldn’t have space. Space. That’s so important to me. I know I sound really childish. Oh, boo hoo, June. You’ll have to share a room. No, it’s not just a room. It’s my private space. It’s where I meditate the heck out of my anxiety and depression. It’s where I cry my eyes out when everyone’s bullying me. (Refer to another post about my sisters.) Yes, it sounds childish but that’s what it feels when things are seriously unfair. To have a say as to whether or not I can keep my room… obviously, that makes me feel like a kid. I know my blueprints aren’t done. There’s no concrete plan but I’ve been working on it as best as my mental capacity will let me. But if I lose my space, I lose out on working on my blueprint, miss out on my life. If I apply for that job and get it… I still lose out. When I was working for the previous job, I couldn’t find the energy to make art. I couldn’t wrap my head around being physically drained and still have the mental energy to want to do things. That want to make art did nothing for me. It made me feel sad, sad that I couldn’t find the energy to do it. That sadness made me want to cry and act out. It made me want to run away. So, it was like my stupid depression resurfacing as another being. I didn’t know it was my depression but it was still dragging me down. This whole ordeal is making me want to ride a fast track and just leave. If I have to get a job just to have a say in having a room, I’d rather fast track my not-so-concrete plans for going back to school. I’d rather go get a dorm and get the heck out of this house. It makes me want out of this family. Why am I always getting manipulated into doing something I don’t want? I almost applied today but that job is an art job. Someone else’s art. I’ve been there. Remember? School. It’s what made me dislike art for a while. It’s what drained me, to begin with. It’s why I opted out of school last year, right? Why am I on the wheel again? Why. So… after this rant, I decided I wasn’t going to apply. As far as anything will go, I’m most likely going to work faster with getting my art out there and looking up colleges, scholarships, and all that good stuff too. Everything will be in fast forward. I’m not about to compromise my mental well-being for anyone. Not anymore. In the end, I’m not going to pack my art. That’s the real goal.