On the good days…
On good days I believe I have a future.
On good days I imagine a steady job I don’t hate, working hard but during normal hours. I imagine making enough to feel secure, and enough to pay off my loans and have savings. I imagine someday travelling with my girlfriend wherever we want to go, and also imagine finding a place where we can have a puppy. I imagine writing here and on my other blog and finally finding some confidence and a voice and maybe being able to turn my writing in to something real, something worthy of calling myself a writer for.
On good days I know that even if any of those things don’t work out the way I want them to, I won’t be a bad person and the world will not end.
On good days you can persuade me that someday thinking about being forced to leave grad school won’t make me feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach, ready to cry as I well up with tears. That eventually life will go on and it won’t feel like such a crushing failure.
On the good days, I know that someday I’ll be fine and this whole grad-school-not-as-planned business will seem like just a minor setback.
On good days, lovely links and comments on the blog will make me feel appreciated and useful and hopeful about the future.
On good days, I can be kind to myself. I can appreciate what I did get done in a day even if I didn’t do everything I wanted to.
On the good days, everything’s going to be okay.
But on the bad nights…
On bad nights I just can’t see a future. My life drops off a cliff at the end of March and I can’t see a way forward. I don’t understand how I can be expected to–I never planned for things to go this way.
On bad nights there are no jobs, and the anxiety about money tears my sanity and my relationships to shreds. I never write another worthwhile post here, and I watch my hits trail slowly off into nothing before I finally just run out of steam. I kick myself for the time spent wasted on this stupid dream.
On bad nights I’m sure that if I don’t get a job good enough to support me, if I don’t pull myself together and get over myself already, that I am useless and stupid and deserve whatever I get.
On bad nights I know that I blew the only chance I’ll ever have to be in science, and that I’ll hate myself for that forever.
On bad nights, I mock myself for caring about stupid comments and hits and page views on a stupid fucking blog full of whiny mushy crap about nothing serious. It’s not like I can expect it to last. It’s not like anyone really cares. It’s not like I’ll ever be some great writer.
On bad nights, a day spent tired and headachy and working at little pieces of things around the edges but not really getting all that much done, that day feels like the most colossal pathetic failure ever. On bad nights, I’m a stupid self-pitying whiner who should just get the hell over herself and be productive already.
On bad nights, I can’t imagine outlasting this storm. I can’t see a way through to the other side.
On the bad nights, this one defeat at twenty-four is something I never recover from, I never get the fuck over myself and get it together.
EDIT 2/26: On the bad nights I write
stupid self-indulgent painfully honest blog posts late at night and I actually convince myself that they’re worthy of posting. have kickass friends and commenters remind me that I’m not alone, and that sharing my struggles matters.