I am a member of the generation that has documented their entire adolescence on the internet of their own accord. I was thinking about this the other day because I wanted to download all of my old blog entries from my high school blog. Unfortunately they wouldn’t work, the website is undergoing some changes. Most likely some kind of facelift to make it more appealing to the latest up-and-coming crop of adolescents documenting their lives online. However I think most of them just us tumblr. Anyway I haven’t posted on here in months. I don’t know why I started this blog. I’ve never been very good at blogging. I end up using it as more of an online journal and then it’s too personal or no one cares.
I guess I should do a life update. I got a new job. A real English major job. I am now a copywriter so that’s exciting. I still am questioning myself sometimes about if I’m doing a good job but I’ve been there for 2 months now and I really love it. The company is awesome and I do like my coworkers. I haven’t bonded with them as well or as quickly as I did at my last job but I’m trying to be optimistic. We all got really close really fast at my last job. Or at least some of us did. Anyway I’m not sure where I was going with this. I guess just a reminder that I’m still here. I’ve been trying to write more offline lately. I really do need to get back on track with my writing. It is something that’s always been there for me, even when people haven’t. I will try to post more on here though too, if I remember.
Love to anyone reading this,
Suicide has been a recurring subject in my life lately, especially today. But I guess if we’re being honest, it has my whole life. It’s been an unspeakable shadow that hides most days but sometimes whispers and beckons to me when I find myself in the dark. The first time I was diagnosed with depression I was 12 years old. Twelve. At the time I was so depressed I was considering taking my own life. At twelve years old I had wanted my life to end before it had even begun. Hell, I’m barely feeling like I’m starting my life now at 23. And I don’t know how different life would be for my loved ones if I had gone through with it. I remember one night specifically standing in my kitchen holding a knife and just imagining how easy it’d be. What a chilling thought. And I thank God everyday that I didn’t do it. That I had told my best friend about it and I had managed to get help. To be honest I didn’t ask for help though. At such a young age I had wondered if what I was feeling was normal or that I could somehow “push through it”. But I couldn’t. My parents ended up finding a note I had written to my friend about how I wanted to end it all. They had never found or read any other notes I had written but they managed to find that one. I think that is one of the main things that makes me still believe in a higher power or serendipity or something because something wanted me to stay on earth. This ended up being more personal than I thought but I mostly just needed to vent because I know that maybe other people feel the same way or wondered about my history with this. Of course that’s not the end of my story. I went through a couple years of counseling and anti depressants before I was cleared to stop. Then at 17 I had to go back into counseling and again at 20. I’ve even been considering going back now but I am definitely better at managing it. I just need people to know that getting help even though it seems so terrifying and so isolating, it’s not. It will free you. It will give you a life you cannot even imagine because, as you know, living with depression isn’t any kind of life. At least not a satisfying one. I don’t know if this post will even help anyone but like I said I needed to vent. I don’t have many people in my life to talk to anymore, and that may be of my own doing but the people I do have left are great but I don’t want to wear them down all the time. I think I’m a hard person to be close to. I have a lot of feelings and not much of a filter. I’ll spill my heart and most of the time it’s not pretty. I’m just trying to be as open and honest as possible because well, life’s too short. I don’t want anyone to wonder about my feelings for them even if I wonder about theirs for me.
I love you all, please talk to me if you ever feel alone. I promise I’ll sit with you in the dark and hopefully get you to see some light.
No but really. My job is…interesting to say the least. The first few weeks were mostly spent sitting around trying to learn from watching someone else do our job. It did help to build camaraderie however, which is a good thing because now I have coworker friends again! Yay! I do really think my job will be easy once things finally get going. They keep making promises to us and then changing their minds which is frustrating but I guess it’s okay. It’ll all work out right?
So I guess I should say something here. I finally got a job! I mean, it’s definitely like, entry level started from the bottom now we he-uh status but it’s a job and I’m excited to be getting paid again. I was supposed to start last Monday but they pushed it back a week so I can’t really comment on that yet. But it should be good. A whole new adventure of sorts. Anyway my parents have been in Africa for 4 days now. It’s weird being in this big house all by myself. I’ve been keeping busy though but I’ve had a lot of time to think. I started freaking out today because it randomly hit me that I’m going to die someday. I know, what a big revelation (duh) but really. Like there’s going to be one day where I die. I will wake up that morning and not go to bed that night. That really freaked me out. I had a panic attack and couldn’t breathe thinking about it. So basically I almost killed myself thinking about me dying. I know it’s ridiculous but I wonder if I’ll ever accept that fact. I hope there comes a point in my life where I feel like I’ve fulfilled enough, done enough of the things I’ve wanted to, or at least just get to a moment of complacency to accept that death will happen and it won’t be something I regret. Sure, there’s no way I could do absolutely everything I wanted to do in my life. I most likely will never end up watching True Blood since I’ve gone this long without taking the plunge into it but I hope I’ll be okay with it. Although I guess I don’t really have a say or will know what I think about my own death. And maybe that’s the scariest part. It all just ends one day and that’s it.
I constantly have to remind myself that my life is not an episode of Girls no matter how much I relate to Hannah Horvath. Which in my personal opinion, isn’t even the best character to relate to. Nor do I relate to her in every way but in many ways we are similar. But like Hannah, I am a writer and I need to continue writing. I’ve started working out almost daily and I need to remember that writing everyday is just as important to my health. Because what do English majors aspire to be after college? Teachers? That is the main career option that I keep hearing for me. But lately I’ve been applying to anything that seems like something I could do, which mostly has been data entry this week. I’ve had an interview that went really well and I’m waiting to hear back. I just feel like I keep shooting out resumes in so many different directions that I don’t know who is calling me anymore. It’s always a surprise when they say “Hey Samantha this is ______ you applied for _______.” I never know what I’m getting myself into, it’s like a fun game of professional jack-in-the-box, you never know when or who will pop up. Anyway I’m at least going to post once a week on here and even though it’s boring maybe it’ll help me get creative somewhere along the way.
Are you still allowed to call yourself a writer if you don’t write regularly? I always thought that writing was something that was part of my identity and who I am so it didn’t matter if I wrote a lot because I could always pick it back up easily. It was my “thing”. It is my “thing”. I just need to find a way to get paid to do my “thing” or at least something to supplement a life and then I can do my thing on the side. Ugh okay, new word now. At least according to a Buzzfeed quiz going around Facebook I can still identify as a writer even though I haven’t written anything of note in ages. Okay, it’s only been a couple months and it’s been a couple years since I’ve had sex yet I still think of myself as capable and willing to have sex if the occasion arises (it never does). I don’t really know why I started this blog, I suppose because I’m a writer and I’m supposed to be writing something and a blog seemed like a logical fit. Or perhaps because some of the jobs I’ve been applying for have wanted to know if I have experience using WordPress so naturally I lied and said yes. So now I’m seeing what the fuss is about but honestly it doesn’t seem that hard. Maybe life is like that. It seems hard and terrifying and like a shout into an abyss to take a leap of faith and fall into adulthood but once you’re there, you open your eyes and see it’s not so bad. Plus now you can have ice cream and pie for breakfast and no one will give you grief about it.
Okay, honestly I don’t know the first thing about being an adult still. I live with my parents and didn’t leave the house today. My attempts of searching for jobs consist of me sitting on my MacBook Pro (that was a gift from my grandmother) scouring job listings on websites and shooting off resumes with two or three different tweaks depending on the position, while watching hours of Sex and the City and Boy Meets World reruns. I hardly ever see friends anymore and when I do it reminds me how my savings account is drying up as fast as California’s water supply and I’m about to issue my own state of emergency. I’m just waiting for my substitute teaching gig to work itself out and hopefully I don’t hate it. I’m so terrified that I won’t be able to do anything. The only thing I feel like I’m good at is writing and I’m not even that good at it. I am just good at ranting and sometimes people find it endearing. The truth is I’m so afraid to fail that most of the time, and especially lately, I don’t try at all.
That’s probably the most cliche title I could’ve chosen for this entry but I think it’s allowed every now and then right? No, my professors are probably rolling their eyes (as if they’d ever read this blog, ha!) but I digress. It’s been about a month since I’ve been done with school now. It still doesn’t really seem real, I feel like I’m on a prolonged winter break or something. But anyway this is my new blog. I am going to discuss my struggles with adjusting into being a real adult and dealing with the fact that I’m no longer forced to read a couple novels a week, unless I choose to. Yay!