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.

I woke up today with plans of working out and cleaning up the mess that is my desk and wardrobe after neglecting it for a year of painful exams and projects, but I’ve remained in bed after breakfast. It has been about 9 hours since then.

I’ve been feeling uninspired, lethargic, and reclusive. Time moves fast while I remain stagnant. I hate it.

What is my purpose? My reason? Have I done enough as a human being to leave a legacy behind? To inspire, guide, and shield. To protect, motivate, and console. To listen, to create, to cushion others if and when they fall. Those were things I wanted to embody, to live and breathe.

It is during these times of the night that I am haunted by my own mind, my worries and fears, my frightening realization that I am a human and not a superhero who can do anything and everything.

I never know what to do other than to stare into the abysmal dark devouring my ceiling, until I am shocked awake by my multiple alarms and live my routine days, only to come back to bed when my day is over, turning my back to want to do in order to fall into the arms of these thoughts again.

Until the next day.

Beauty in Words
An ongoing personal project that turns steel tipped words said to me in the past into aesthetically pleasing (or so I hope) lettering pieces. It gives a sense of irony to the reader: it is both nice, but the words hurt. Should they like it? Or should they be concerned.