Let me ask you a question. Do you know what its like living with the assumption that everything is your fault? Things like 9/11 or the Columbine Shootings, things that are out of your range of influence, don’t count. I would hate to be the person that thinks they had a hand in deciding the fate of those days. I am talking about the little stuff. Loved ones of friends dying is your fault because you demanded too much attention from your friends and they couldn’t be around to give support to the victim. Getting fired for sub-par performance, because how is that anyone’s problem but your own? Not being able to get another job for three years is also your fault because they can SMELL the failure on you. That stink doesn’t wash off ever.
I live like this. Every day I wake up and there is a low level panic coursing through my veins. Its no wonder I am depressed. I feel trapped. I need a better job, but I cannot impress the people that want to hire me for better jobs. That’s my fault. I need to stay with the job that I have because no one else will hire me. That’s my fault. I can’t keep the job that I have because I don’t perform well enough. That’s my fault.
There it is. Undeniable proof. Its. All. My. Fault. Always. There is no one else to blame. Everyone else is trying to make me work, and I can’t. Its painful.
I can’t seem to get through anything with out making a metaphor or a simile. I can’t remember which is which right now. So here it is.
I feel like a plant that has been raised in a greenhouse. Everything is in a perfect condition but I am still given the best nutrients and care in preparation for being placed out side of the greenhouse. Its almost as if I was coddled. Then I get placed outside. I am overwhelmed. The heat of the sun, the sting of the wind, the cold sap of rain, all works against me. But I am supposed to be stronger than all of that. I was given the best food to be strong and big. I was given the best care to be able to weather any storm. But I can’t. So stakes and splints are put up around me in an effort to keep me alive. It can’t stop the hail pelting my leaves and it can’t stop me from reacting to it. Now look around see all the other plants. Comfy and cozy and safe. Fairing well and thriving. I droop lower. I desperately want to go back into the greenhouse, but there is no room and to go back as a full grown plant is humiliating and recovery is not assured.
What is the point now? If I were a plant I would have given up. I would have passed away peacefully and regretfully because even if I do manage to make it, everything I was supposed to be has been lost. You don’t keep a cup around if it has a crack in it. You don’t nurse a dog back from health if its going to suffer. You don’t continue to tend to a plant that is withering. Why is it so hard to do the same for humans? I am not good at being alive. Please let me die.