rashasaleel

[rashasaleel]

Accept, Adjust.

I'm a bad person.

I'm selfish, conceited and self centred. I somehow manage to convince myself I'm better than a lot of people because I just am, despite the fact that said people are getting better jobs, better opportunities and better everything. So maybe I'm a loser too. A selfish, conceited and self centred loser.

I didn't go off track, I did everything right as much as "right" goes and whatever the fuck "right" means. I have no idea anymore.

I have no idea about anything anymore. Whatever I believed and hoped has led me to this very moment in time where I write about how screwed I am at 1:32 am in the morning.

I wake up, do my shit, mindlessly watch something on tv, scroll through my phone, workout to get some sort of dopamine, have a bunch of caffeine to get that dopamine fix again which will, god willing, eventually lead me to die by the ripe age of 50.

I have nothing to do and quite honestly I don't think I wanna do anything that will in the future get me to a moment such as this.

A bachelor's in English is fun if you wanna throw facts and complicated words at people or better yet, act snobby. Because that's the best part of having a degree in English language and literature, you can be a certified snob. You know stuff these science nerds and number crunchers could never comprehend.(I'm exaggerating. I’m sleep deprived ok)

But apart from that, you get a lot of unemployment, self doubt, a lot of "what the fuck was I thinking?"I don't think I have another "what the fuck was I thinking" in me to take a master's degree in English. I cannot put myself in the world of LinkedIn again.

It's unexplainable, this feeling, this uncertainty that apparently everyone goes through, so it's nothing special. I'm not entitled to complain, because it happens to everyone. I can't complain because it's the economy that doesn't have job opportunities. It happens to everyone. It's a reality I have to adjust to.

Accept, adjust.

So I take a master's in something because what if I don't get a promotion because I don't have a master's?

What if I fall behind ?

What if?

Then I should get a government job hopefully because it's secure. You put in a mediocre effort to get a decent salary because it's the government, neither of us care about each other.

Who cares about passion? Passion is the new word for hobby. Passion is what you put aside to focus on real shit, like a job you hate that pays you alright. Passion is what you pick up when you're away from the job you hate.

I can't put away something I know I'm supposed to do, not as an occupation but for myself. But that's me being selfish. How can I ever think about myself?

I have to think about others. If you have no others depending on you, you need other "others" in your life. You need a husband, a wife, a few kids because who are you? What kind of a person are you to not have others depending on you? You have to think about others. You need to find stability and security even before you have these "others". If not, you may never get them. And if you don't get them, you're alone and that makes you selfish. How dare you think and provide for only yourself?

Accept, adjust.

"No one's gonna marry you if you're this way"

"Here's hoping"

Maybe it'll all work out and make sense.

But what if it'll only make sense because I caved and accepted all this ? If I adjusted. I won't even realise I'm part of the rat race where my dreams are only those that I see in my sleep, to wake up and realise everything I've ever dreamt with my eyes open is a pipe dream. I can't stop and pull back then, can I? Will I even realise all this then?Will it matter even if I do? Will I still be selfish if I do ?

I never realised how linear time is and how fast it goes by. I feel like I was 18 just last year and now I'm 21. And somehow the more I dwell on it the older I become.

I don't even remember yesterday, that's how fast it all goes. And I'm afraid that before I realise it, one day I'll just be too old and it'll be too late. Full of regret and resentment.

What I have towards writing is just..... just stupid. I love and hate it at the same time. I think about it all the time like a creepy ex boyfriend, I can't get it out of my mind. It haunts me day in and day out. I want to write everything about everything. But I can't find the words, maybe I know them but I can't put them together in such a way that it perfectly expresses what I truly want. (What do I want?)

And because I can't do that, I believe I'm a bad writer. Because that's literally the entire purpose. Know the words, put them together, and write. Fucking idiot.

I love it so much that I hate how much I love it. It eats my brain and turns me insane and I fucking hate it because I'm scared.

I'm so scared.

The feel of your flesh tearing and your creative mind rotting between becoming a human machine like everyone else to survive and following your passion.

So what's my purpose?

What if I know that I wasn't put here to be like everyone else? To merely survive, to exist for others, as others say. What if you know it but others don't see it? Will you be anything without their recognition?

What if what if what if

Accept adjust, accept adjust.

It's a constant ever teetering ride of "am I enough?" "I got this", " I need people", "I hate everyone"

In the end the madness of art is how we persevere despite everyone telling us not to.

Unfortunately today, knowing and realising all this makes you selfish, conceited, self centred and ultimately a bad person. So maybe I am a bad person.

I care about what others say, hear them, get anxious, lose my appetite, have a meltdown, get depressed, have a nap, get a fucking ulcer in my stomach.

But that's ok because I'm my worst enemy. You're your worst enemy. 

Occasionally I think we just need to screw the others and tell ourselves "fuck you, watch this."