Frustration
I am frustrated. I am frustrated with my place in life. I am frustrated with how I am treated in life. I am frustrated that none of my hard work never pays off in life. I am frustrated that when I need space that space turns into a defining characteristic. I am frustrated that my mental health keeps getting worse and worse no matter what I try to do to save it. I am frustrated that I am never the one people want to hang out with. I am frustrated that I have to be the one who makes plans. I’m frustrated that people use me for my car. I’m frustrated that people only invite me to things out on necessity. I’m frustrated that no one sees the work that I’m doing. I’m frustrated that I’m not getting paid what I deserve. I’m frustrated that my bosses don’t understand why I’m frustrated. I’m frustrated that other people are always judging me and nothing is good enough for them.
But why should I be frustrated? Why should I be sad? Why can I say that I am in a terrible mental place if my parents both have well-paying jobs? If I have a car to drive? If I have a job? If I go to a nice school? If I’ve gotten a raise? If both my parents love me? If I have a roof over my head? If I have food to eat?
Why does what I have negate what I feel? Why can’t I feel like I’m mistreated? Or that my hard work isn’t recognized? Or that needing space doesn’t make me a bad person? Or that my mental health isn’t great? Or that no one makes plans with me? Or that people only seem to make plans when they need me to drive? Or that people are only friends with me because they don’t want to tell me that they hate me? Or that when I go above and beyond everyone turns a blind eye? Or that I’m getting raises months after I was told I would get them? Or that my bosses turned my lack of raises back onto me? Or that people make assumptions about me that aren’t true.
What my parents have worked for doesn’t change that I don’t feel great. I’m alone. I’m undervalued. I’m overshadowed.
And I am frustrated.