Well. I haven’t heard back about a third interview so that’s dead. On to the next.
Currently working on a new short story! Hoping to send it out to some competitions this spring!
Thinking you’ve pulled yourself out it, but realizing you’ve relapsed and fallen back into the abyss of sadness. And choosing to try to pull yourself out of it tomorrow. Again.
“Go all the way with it. Do not back off. For once, go all the goddamn way with what matters.”
— Ernest Hemingway
Not leaving the house for nearly two weeks because you can’t get going and struggle to even get out of bed. And then finally, the light breaks through, and you get up, and you go out, and it feels like the fog has cleared. At least, for the time being.
Feeling tired and sad for literal days on end, almost a week actually, and being unable to leave the house, or even get out of bed half the time.
I’m just so fucking sad and disappointed in myself and life and everything. I have worked so hard to get my BA and my MA, I’ve gone to three universities, I’ve worked a bunch of part time, minimum wage jobs, I literally moved to a different continent to get an affordable education and I come back here and I apply to job after job after job and I hear NOTHING back from anyone and I am at the end of my rope tbh. I can’t stay in this town anymore I want to die most of the time when I’m here there is NOTHING here for me or anyone else, it’s a dead end and it’s filled with townies who have zero ambition and Stepford Wives who are one more shot of botox away from looking like real, actual goddamn robots and I just HAVE to get OUT of here. I want to be a writer, I need to network and get out there and that’s why I am so desperately trying to get to California or New York or somewhere that feels like LIFE is actually happening because let me tell you what it’s NOT happening here. When I boarded my flight in London in September to come back here (after applying for jobs in England for MONTHS and hearing nothing) I took a Xanax and drank two mini bottles of Spanish wine and still had a panic attack as I wept because I KNEW I’d be trapped here and I’d never get out and once again my instincts were right.
I am drowning. And there’s no lifeguard on duty.
“I guess I’ve still got some more healing to do.”
— The Darjeeling Limited (2007)
There are those of us
who roam alone,
who search for fleeting
or escapable intimacies,
who need to touch you
just one more time
or for the first time
because their fear
ate them alive
the last time,
who imagine love
like yellow flowers
in flowing summer fields,
but know that isn’t real
but a fantasy from a movie
or a song
or a poem
they came across
many lives ago,
probably in winter
when their heart was frozen
by the snow,
and they needed to believe
the warmth would come again,
who see themselves
amongst the stars,
floating in the blackness of
the deepest part of space,
until they shock themselves awake,
and realise their mind is actually
the darkest spot
in the universe,
and no matter what they wear to sleep,
the bed stays cold,
even in the summer heat.
Original Work: Kelsey H. 5/1/17
I feel like I’m one of those people that love forgot.
Let 2017 be the year of love. Let love finally reign supreme over all of us.
Tell the people you love, that you love them.