A Reflection
Where Did Things Take a Turn
Lately, I’ve been finding myself thinking in my car more often. In fact, I spend more time in my car than in my studio. My studio has become little more than a place to shower and leave my things: no resting, no downtime, no hobbies or new pursuits. Nothing. Most days, I nap for an hour or two, grab what I need for work, and end up sleeping in my car before my shifts.
After publishing my recent post, “Bound by Compulsion: When Anger Got the Best of Me at Work,” I noticed how my blog has shifted. What started as a space to share what I was trying and learning has become filled with venting—anger, sadness, compulsion, feelings of worthlessness and never being enough. Even my writing feels like it has taken a turn.
I Feel Like the Punchline of a Joke I’m Not Telling
In another post, “Could We Talk About Relationships?” I listed a few personal requirements I want to fulfill before pursuing a relationship:
- Have my own place, so no one can tell me what to do.
- Earn enough money to support myself—and maybe someone else—if needed.
- Make sure my job doesn’t consume my personal life: time with family, friends, a potential partner, or my own projects.
So far, I’ve only managed the first one. The other two dangle in front of me, taunting me, like I’m the butt of a joke I’m not telling. And that’s the joke—I’m still here at this job, even though 70% of the time I don’t want to be. (It depends on how loud the voices get that day.)
Every time I think I’m making progress, I’m reminded I’m not. The proof is scattered all over my blog:
- Could We Talk About Relationships?
- Stuck in Traffic, Stuck in My Head: A Reflection on Control and Fear
- Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape
- Who Am I Fighting?—Turning This Burning Sensation into a Map
- Can Sharing Honestly Be Enough? Reflections from a Blog with No Strategy
- Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here—On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy
- I’m Afraid of Wasting My Potential—So I Learn What I Can, While I Can
Ninety articles in, and my main stress—my full time job, the exhaustion, the anger—is still the same. My body hasn’t had real rest in months, and part of me still blames myself for that.
Can’t I Do Something About This?
The simple answer is yes. The complicated answer is also yes—but finding another job that pays over $23/hour, offers benefits, and treats me like a human being has been brutally hard. Applications go out. Rejections or silence come back.
The silence is always worse.
Meanwhile, my current job devours my time. I regularly choose between sleeping or eating. I’m so tired I can’t fall asleep peacefully, and nightmares jolt me awake. Some days I fight myself: the part that wants the pain to end against the part that still wants to live.
And yet—something tells me to keep going. In my earlier post, “Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here—On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy,” I wrote that living is the best form of revenge. To keep living, to turn things around, to let the people who doubted you suffer the fact that you’re still here.
I want to be treated like the work I do matters. I want to believe I’m not expendable, worthless, pathetic, or failing at everything. But that’s the script that plays in my head every single day at work, and it’s exhausting.
I’m Not Sure How Long I Can Keep This Up
My anger, frustration, and patience are fraying at the seams. I want to work on my blog. I want to rest for more than two hours at a time. I want to go home at a decent hour and feel like my life belongs to me—not to debt, work, a chaotic sleep schedule, or constant self-doubt.
I’ve been fighting systems and expectations for a long time. I’ve tried to define for myself what a rich and successful life does look like, giving the things I don’t believe in the metaphorical middle finger. But I’m so tired. I worry I’ll eventually become someone I hate: compliant, small, willing to accept scraps.
For now, all I can do is push through my shifts, pour what energy I can into my own work, and try to carve something out of this mess. I don’t have a map. Every time I make one, Life throws another curveball.
But as much as I hate being alive sometimes, I keep living—not out of pure hope, but because my presence in this world is an act of defiance.
Closing Note
If you’ve ever found yourself in a similar place—caught between exhaustion and the stubbornness to keep going—I’d love to hear how you’ve navigated it. Leave a comment, share your own story, or pass this along to someone who might need to know they’re not the only one still fighting.
And if this reflection resonated with you, liking, subscribing, or sharing helps my work reach more people who might need to see that they’re not alone either.
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