September 25, 2014|
Just came back from running. I work at 2:30. It always feels like there isn't enough time. I live near one of the most coveted cities in the world, but it seems impossible to reach sometimes. Like I could go visit, and then return to the lower than minimum wage job back here in the suburbs. If i get up very early. I used to wander aimlessly.
Iíd like to
Time is running out.
- do pushups
- play Killzone 2 in the small space of time between now and work and the time that my roommates come back to take over the entertainment center
- write music
My doctor wonít refill my Rx because I donít have spinal damage. But I donít think Iím imagining pain.
It all feels real. So Iíll see how long my other doctor will refill it. Because sometimes I feel like I canít do anything because my body is so weak.
I keep hearing about the effects of poverty on people. I was just listening to the radio, they talked about how itís a global health crisis, or something.
When I do more music, and i need to, because I realized I go out and dance because I donít perform otherwise, dancing is so important to me because I need to perform, somehow, I want to set up a slideshow of tech logos and poverty and violence. Because they are all the same to me.
But I kind of hate hearing about povertyís effect on people because it validates how I feel, but at the same time, I feel like my feelings are totally invalidated by the people who know me.
No one ever treats me like Iím in a state of crisis, even though I feel constantly nervous and frightened.
Not even the people who live with me.
The person who I live with, who helped me live here, I have stopped discussing money with her. Sheís looking out for herself only, now, and is unconcerned with what is happening with me. Iím trying to save as much money as possible just to pay her. I told her how much Iím struggling. It doesnít matter.
One person asked me if she thinks my negativity is just contributing to blah blah blah. A couple others say I donít have any reason to be depressed.
So I must be imagining it, I must be imagining the back pain too, I must be imagining everything, because I am a child incapable of comprehending anything in the world, and Iíd better pay rent on time, too. I must live in my imagination, and itís just a hindrance for other people. Who need their rent, who need me out of the way.
Then the radio and the buzzfeed lists tell me how hopeless it is to try to make progress on a minimum wage salary, people on Tumblr posting images that say to treat people in the service industry nice, and then in real life, Iím a liar, on the internet and in the media, Iím a statistic, something to be used as an example for how people outside should live.
Give the bum a quarter, save crippled kittens.
Working in the service industry has shown me how much it colors a person. I feel tainted by it. Its scent sticks to me and follows me home. Corporate logos fill my life now in the form of receipts and carryout bags.
Keep believing. Keep believing that there is a way to strength, to success, to money. My belief is the strongest thing in my life, and it is stumbling, but I can never let go. It is the only thing that keeps me afloat, even as it deflates and disintegrates.
Disintegrate me, too. Pull me up to the clouds. Allow my head to go light and my eyesight to be clouded and wiped out by ice crystals.
If hope dies, let me come, too.