It seems ever so strange that after celebrating another adult milestone, it feels more akin to regression than progression.
Last sunday, I dampened my own dinner by finally telling my mom and dad something that was eating at me since last summer.It was a memory, one that stands out.
While hanging out in my room, I overheard a phone conversation between my mother and a friend, and the friend asked how I was doing. She said I was doing fine, but still without a job, and the tone of the conversation made me feel as if I’m the shame of the family, the kid who just can’t win.
It was a slap in the face that I held bottled up inside for months. Sometimes it would be shaken, ready to explode, all over. Sometimes it would be about to fizz over then just dissapate.
It truly began to emerge last December, when in a rush of bad thinking, I walked towards a bridge, and nearly threw myself over it. I had a foot on the side, almost like I was going to jump.
I have never told anyone about that. And will probably never try to. I’m over that moment of weakness, albeit after hours of sitting in a chair, eating, screaming inside.
Back to the point, I finally expressed how I felt like a loser for being the oldest kid in the family, yet now the only one who has nothing. That’s right, nothing.
I can say that I have a band, a photo career, a radio career, a penchant to write, and other things…but is it really worth shit?
My brother graduates in May, he’s doing all this exciting stuff and adventures in spring break, so is my sister. I’m the one stuck at home.
I don’t know to be honest. I try not to feel like a failure but every sign is pointing to me as one.
Perhaps I’m seeing the forest for the trees. I hope so…because there’s only so much I can say and do before fate takes over.
