Am

I am a somebody, even when I feel like a nobody. Like nobody special, nobody recognizable. I work on trying not to label my existence, so just remember that "I am."

I am a person.
I exist.
I breathe.

Not sure that I know much else beyond that.

Rebel Hearts Do Exist

Such an infrequence of things to say. This brain seems to function this way. Now, at least.
Perhaps the usage of medication stifled the spirit, rendered this heart a bit less rebellious. And yet, coming off the medication for which I'd essentially utilized to sedate myself into submission, I feel the spirit alive and well. The struggle has been learning to sit through the madness and intensity of passionate awareness. Life feels good and I am attempting to avoid taking rash action. Important, perhaps, to maintain a roof over my head.

Jobs are odd things. I wish my job didn't feel like work. I do not mind putting in effort or hours when it feels seen and appreciated and feeds the soul, but that is not this reality. I miss the dedication and optimism of being a freshly minted employee. Miss believing in what we stood for and all the walls we would crush. Now the only thing that feels crushed is my drive.

Realize I do now this job is proportionate to being in an abusive relationship. "Why don't you just quit?" they ask. And truly it feels like the rationale so many find infuriating when trying to understand the cycle of domestic violence. For me, quitting or leaving would be akin to admitting what feels like failure, slandering the representation of a person I have for so long admired and loved and longed to be like. So when you ask why I don't leave, it's not that simple and I don't expect understanding. That said, it's not to imply I don't recognize the flaw of staying in a place that triggers my deepest insecurities and almost revels in feeding a world view of limitation. As if to say, be grateful for what you have. Don't challenge this status quo and don't you dare speak ill of those in power unless you're ready to leave. And not only as if to say, but do they. They say these things.

I find comfort in knowing I'm not alone. Not in this work place, not in this life. Discontent abounds and reveals the notion of perfection to be a false messiah. I do not feel the desire to continue worship of this demeaning arrival fallacy. It might never be ok and yes, life is suffering and sometimes unbearable. But I don't know if I can, in clear conscience, continue to commit to the abusive destruction of this job. I am a human being with feelings, dammit. Maybe I can refer a robot in my stead.