I don't consider myself a writer and certainly don't think I'm any good at using the English language as a way to express my inner thoughts. It really has never been my forte. Expressing myself in a verbal and written sense is foreign and often leads others to the completely wrong track about what I really feel...what I really want. But then I find myself here, aiming to somehow put pen to paper, but in a more modern 21st century type of way. I am a millennial after all.
Tumblr fell off my radar quite a number of years ago. I would say around 2014, when I thought my life was difficult but now I just think that maybe I liked it being that way. So here I am again, using it in a way I never thought I would. As a blog. My blog. Kind of feels good to say that because I'm not sure there is anything else I can happily say is mine. My life, not happy. My home: not mine. My assets: as if. My job: don't get me started. My health: hanging by a thread. This modern day diary might be the only thing that will get me out of bed each morning as I wake and come to realise after about one to two seconds...that there isn't much actually getting out of bed for. That the life I had hoped for and maybe had lived for a period, either doesn't exist anymore or never had existed. So this will be considered as my millennial awakening. My friend. And it has, like any other friend, the ability to break me or help me excel. No, excel is the wrong word. Help me....walk and maybe one day learn to run. Who am I kidding, I don't run. Jog. Lightly jog.
I suppose, if anyone is reading (probably just myself) this will be a take on...my life. In all it's absolutely shitty glory. I read so many of these blogs written by people who weren't successful but then found their success because they broke through the hard times. Because they got up at 4am and meditated and had gratitude and never stopped working at that daily grind. Let me assure you, that is not the case here. I don't think success is around the corner the harder I try. I think that many people, just like me, need these stories. Need to see they aren't wrong in how they feel or what they think. That some of us aren't dealt with one shitty hand. That we are dealt with many shitty hands. That sometimes, people don't care. And yes, I know that whilst I write this there is that small amount of hopefulness that things could turn around. And if they do, awesome. I can then write about that and appeal to a different set of people. But for the last 29 years, what I've attempted to work towards, has led me to this moment. And in this moment I am lonely, sad, unsuccessful and still in my pajamas at 1pm.
What am I meant to write about? Myself? My journey? This is weird and even weirder that I would expect anyone to care. People say you only need one person to care and that is of course, yourself. Is there anyone out there who actually believes that? Aren't we taught to socialise and accept and help others on their journey to self discovery? Doesn't that mean that others would have to care? Are we not in a way, pack animals who crave to be around others, always talking, always sharing, always needing affection and reassurance? So, yes I do expect others to care. How ridiculous.