The days are growing darker as hope seems to slip further and further from my grasp.
I have a little freelance work to tide me over and an interview on Wednesday. But I can feel my subconscious start to slip; the anxiety and panic begin to erupt from inside me. I am scared that it will soon burst out in a torrent as things I had set my heart on begin to slip away from my fingertips. The wonderful agency I had been contracting at — I felt sure that something would come up there, something great. And yet all I have heard from them is terrible silence.
As I sit here at my dining room table, I question everything. I watched my housemate Chris from my room this morning as he left for the day and found myself feeling left out; other people around London get to leave for their exciting jobs every day: where is mine?
Why have I messed everything up so badly and been forced to job hop throughout my twenties? What’s wrong with me? Have I permanently damaged my chances? Is it all too late? Should I just give up now?
But then I think again. I think that the reason I’ve hopped around and taken contracts and left jobs that weren’t right was that I refused to settle; settle for horrible managers and useless people and places where I knew I’d have no room to grow. Perhaps I have been a little too impulsive, a little too much myself…But is that something I should be forced to apologise for? Sometimes, when I think back, I think that I’ve always been a little too much myself. I think that that is perhaps at the route of most of my problems, sadly.
I actually had a wonderful weekend with my housemates Chris and J. We went to the Hampstead Ponds, where I had the first time experience of swimming in an entirely natural setting, complete with leaves, twigs etc. It was rather like being in the middle of a Botticelli painting. Except that the weekends now feel like oasis moments of respite between the difficulty of the week; the hardship of having a job without having a job. The work of hiding it from everyone, possibly including myself.
I look at some of the people I know and wonder how, through their twenties, they’ve made it look so easy. That’s the bit that I told the therapist I felt that I continuously couldn’t do; the everyday bit; the day to day bit.
I’m trying to change and improve myself after everything I’ve been through; as I dove into the cold, green water of the pond I tried to imagine it as being a sort of baptism. That as I sank beneath the waters I could somehow emerge, like the little mermaid, reborn as a new person. A person who has it together. A person who makes it look easy. A person who is successful. A person who embraces their London life. A person who doesn’t need therapy or harbours great mounds of regrets. A person who is happy. A person who is content. A person who is…someone.
Not a person who feels like a ghost drifting beneath the waters of life, trying to take a gulp of precious air but being forced under again and again, just like bullies who used to force my head under the water.
Oh, Lord…Please let me emerge now. I’m so ready.