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Am I enough?

It has been three weeks since my college graduation and, on that day, I felt genuine happiness, excitement, relief, anxiety, and a muddle of other emotions one may get when finally persevering through something that was financially, mentally, physically, and emotionally grueling.

The high I felt quickly became a nose dive into an ocean of my own self made insecurities and superhuman expectations I cannot reach and surpass. It helped boil the vat of self doubt, of what-ifs and I cants. My nights and weekends became days where I would be rolled up in bed feeling sorry for myself. “What happened?” would always be a passing thought as I slept through the time I wanted to utilize to be a better me.

I crossed the finish line and have a degree in my hands with a couple of years of experience in the field. I promised myself to limit my use of “no” and make more use of “yes”, yet here I am sitting on my bed, hunched over a laptop.

What reason do I have to feel the way that I do? I am uninspired and, as embarrassing as it may be to admit, I feel unwanted and unacknowledged.

  • I have been relatively unmotivated with expanding, improving, and inching closer to mastering my hobbies and with attaining my goals of being a better and healthier version of myself.
  • I have been hiding from social gatherings with friends; I spent every night of last week trying to make time for them, only to regret the fatigue I feel once I am home.
  • I dislike falling asleep once I am home from work and settled in, since it takes time away from everything else I want to do.
  • The uncertainty of my future has left me in a standstill. The lack of confidence in my skills leaves me feeling useless.
  • I have been asked multiple times by friends and acquaintances about relationships now that I have graduated college as a single woman. “Now that you’re out of college, you won’t be meeting anyone new… How are you going to find the one?” “Sam, it’s over for you now. You graduated with no boyfriend.” Relationships have become unimportant to me for the past two or three years. I have crushes (i.e. I like their faces and/or smiles and/or butts), I check out men and panic when I get caught, I hang out with friends who are guys, but it was never a priority to actively go out and find someone—“the one”—to hug, kiss, have sex with, argue with, hold hands with, sleep with in the most literal sense, or have a memorable and emotional romantic roller coaster ride with. If it happens with whomever, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t.

I can only think in fragments, in points that I cannot elaborate well on in the present and helplessly come back to in the future in hopes of writing with a clearer head and confident point of view. I can sit here for another hour trying my best to make this sound less of a complaint and more of an outpour of repressed thoughts neglected because there is simply not enough time in a day — and not enough energy.

It’s 2:00 AM here in New York. I have a few hours to sleep and make it through another 8 hour day.

"Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street."

— Frida Kahlo (via wakeupnat)

(Source: annawoolf, via wakeupnat)