Maybe I was biting more than I could chew, but it is me. And when you deal with depression and all that stuff which they wanted to diagnose me with, but I run away… work is the best thing. Work too much, do not think. I always must be 100% everything. Maybe too crazy about all that perfectionist status, but still… well, it was also needed because you have to have a job, right?
You have to.
I mean a regularly payed one. Semi regularly.
I have always been a reader. For me TV is so much less interesting than a good book. Than my imagination, so when internet started, and a new possibility came out, I grabbed it. Me an archaeologist, then working in a field, less sick, also started to write reviews for different publishing houses and… somehow I bounded with one over “someteen” years ago, and… this is how it started. I gave them my words, my ideas, and also for 5 years… or even more took care of their Facebook account.
And this was my payed work.
So I could start my PhD, I could follow my two passions. Archaeology and books. I could do both… and art. Of course. But, as usual, because it is me… I gave this work all my heart, soul, and thoughts. I always work full. I need everything to be clean, perfect, and… now things I created, which are my kids somehow, are not under my control anymore… I know, everyone goes for it, but who in fact talks about it?
About tears, disappointment.
About this weird feeling… and finally FEAR hitting you. Fear of no money. This fear is the worst struggle. Figuring out, that you are so no one, because nobody pays you for work. It has no matter that you are busy, tired, and have a lot to do… only money counts. Fuck, how sad it is. But we are no longer in times when everyone had at least a piece of ground, so could be sure that there is some food if you take care of it. Nope. The truth is this world seems to only need stupid sellers, those not caring, and those creating commercials, and that is all…
And I am the worst seller ever.
Yeah… another piece of me proofing that I am not made for this world. Fuck, I am a looser. Geee… my depression and anxiety grew so big since two days ago when they informed me about it. They are here, sitting, drinking fat cocoa on a very fat milk, knowing I can not have it, and smile. Eating chocolates. Oh yes, they are having fun…
PS. Do not give me that sentence: one doors close another opens… it never happened too me. Banging closed doors, yeah, that was regular.