A Promise Isn’t A Promise

These days, it seems my avoidance of drinking alcohol, smoking, or using other drugs is less because of the promise I made to myself and more because I lack access to these things.

From observing my grandfather, it seems being an addict is a free pass to take money from everyone else after blowing all your own. You don’t have to concern yourself with their possible needs because you need their money more than them for your needs. If they temporarily have to go without, it doesn’t matter because you’re not going without. All while being in denial or not realizing you’re an addict.

I can’t say being an addict doesn’t look appealing when I judge by that view. There seems to be little unappealing about it. On top of that, the urge to start is getting stronger with each passing day.

I left home without bathing or eating this morning. Not eating breakfast isn’t unusual for me since I haven’t eaten breakfast regularly since I was 17, but not bathing is. I’ve never been frustrated to the point of not bathing, so it’s a first. All I did was put in deodorant. What’s more surprising is I really don’t care.

Yesterday, I had a dream about driving off a bridge and I feel like that’s my brain trying to tell me something I really don’t want to admit, but might be necessary. Unfortunately, my own cowardice prevents that, as it always has when I first began feeling that way several years ago, so it’ll never be reality unless it’s done by someone else’s hand. Truthfully, I feel like all of this is my fault for ever expecting my efforts to lead me anywhere and wasting my time with trying. I’d think the first decade of my life alone would mean I know better than to expect things to get better, but apparently not. To quote a character of an anime I recently watched: I was stupid. So stupid.

I may not keep that promise. It seems to be pointless. I turn to comfort food when I feel so badly, but that hasn’t been helping like it used to. Perhaps alcohol or nicotine or whatever else there is would be the better alternative. It’s certainly better than selling myself on the street, which I’ve also considered doing out of desperation. Really, I best not get into the things I’ve felt desperate enough to consider for money until I manage to find steady paid work (yes, I’m still looking, for some reason even I fail to understand).

At this point, I’m wondering how much longer I can refuse the desperation or the urges to intoxicate myself. How much longer until I finally decide it’s not worth it and break that promise?

Millennials: The Only Entitled Generation?

I came across a rather interesting article yesterday.

Supposedly, 40% of my generation doesn’t eat cereal because it’s inconvenient. At least, 40% of the millennials they surveyed because I’m positive no survey has ever gotten the opinion of absolutely every person in their targeted group. I certainly wasn’t asked any questions about my breakfast choices and the reasons for them.

What’s more surprising is it seems something as simple as not wanting a certain food for breakfast is further my generation is lazy, spoiled, entitled, selfish, and can’t do anything for themselves. Except for those who are Republicans, of course, because they believe in work. Aside from them, my generation is worthless. I’ve yet to make friends with anyone my age who cares about politics and identifies with any party, and I certainly don’t consider myself any of the parties that exist because I despise politics as well, but okay. I’ll run with it.

Ignoring 40% is less than 50, which would mean 60%, the majority, of the millennials they surveyed do eat cereal, though I suppose acknowledging that would make it harder to insult them, I’m interested in what politics have to with breakfast and why, supposedly, my generation is the only “bad” one.

There is no one in personal life of any age who considers themselves to be part of any political party. They might discuss if it comes up on the news, but that’s it. Out of my friends online, I think only one has any interest in politics, though I’d have to ask to be certain. I know the others don’t. My own reason for disliking politics is I’ve learned it’s a subject that can never end kindly. I know there people are of my generation and older who care about politics, but at the moment, I’ve become acquainted with any of them.

As for breakfast, I eat cereal, but I also eat other foods. There are a lot of breakfast foods out there. Pancakes and French toast are my favorites. Sometimes, I don’t eat breakfast because I’m not hungry or I don’t want to eat yet. I’m positive my brain is responsible for my hunger levels and occasionally missing appetite, not the year I was born.

On the bright side, there were several people in those comments who also thought calling a generation entitled for their breakfast choices, of all things, was ridiculous. Still, the whole article only leads me to this question: Why does it seem my generation is considered not only the most terrible, but the only generation with spoiled people? If anyone wants to meet people of older generations with bad values, I can introduce them to the racist family members I keep my partner from. Better yet, they can meet my grandfather, who believes the only races in existence are Caucasian-Americans and African-Americans, and every other race is “foreign” or “immigrant”, even if those people of other races were born in the US.

I’ve read every generation treats the generation younger than them like this. That’s really not comforting. All that tells me is too many people despise another group of people for their age, something they have zero control over. No matter how unhappy I may be with some ways the world is changing, I don’t ever want to reach the point of hating anyone because they’re younger than me. I will hate someone for treating me or others badly, but not for the smaller amount of years they’ve been on this planet than me. I consider this world to be a very dark one anyway, so I consider them lucky they haven’t spent much time on it yet.

No, I don’t believe my generation is flawless. Enduring over a decade of school bullying shoots that idea down. I know how terrible some of my generation is. However, if it’s true this will be said about every generation, what’s the point in the stereotypes? More so, how are menial things like breakfast choices any indication of if someone’s lazy or not? I know the article said those 40% don’t eat cereal because of inconvenience, but what exactly is the inconvenience? Are they in a rush? I don’t eat when I’m in a rush either. Are they trying to save time? When I was in school, I occasionally skipped lunch to start on my homework to avoid having to do all of it at home.

It’s only cereal. It’s really not a big deal. Most of them aren’t very healthy anyway. That said, if anyone takes away my Honey Nut Cheerios, I’ll bite their hand off.

No Worth In My Future

How ironic this should happen just a week after this post.

I had a new experience today. Being desperate to find a job, I tried my hand a temp agency that was close to me and I’d learned about from a flyer. I went yesterday, but I didn’t have my social security card, so I had to return tomorrow, but I was given the word of being sent to a particular nearby town I knew of to begin working. It sounded too good to be true to me, but as I said, I was desperate, so I agreed. Later, I asked several people if the offer sounded legitimate and everyone I asked agreed it was. So, I was hopeful.

I should’ve listened to my instincts.

I woke at 4:40 am and left my hour later to arrive at the agency at 6 AM, as I’d agreed. The worker there took my card and ID, and accepted them. After waiting for about a half hour and a few more people coming, there was a van ready to escort those who’d shown up to the other town to work. I was nervous, but I assumed this was how temp agencies operate. I got in the van with the others and off we went.

This is where I went wrong.

I didn’t have any reason to believe things had changed from what I was told yesterday, so I questioned nothing. However, it took me only a short time to realize that van was not going where I’d been told I’d be sent to. The passenger next to me called the worker at the agency to ask what happened and, apparently, the employer in the first city cancelled the plan to take temps. So, instead, we were going to a much farther town, which I was familiar with, but did not know my way around. I was immediately dismayed.

To top it off, too many temps had been sent, so only the ones who had previous experience with the work needed to be done were allowed to work (how in the world do you attain work experience without ever getting the chance to work?). That meant the rest of us had to be sent home. I went from dismayed to furious. The van that dropped us off was supposed to return, but I don’t know if it ever did because in the end, my family came to pick me up. I felt terrible for all the trouble I’d caused and at the moment, I still do. So much trouble, all out of desperation for work.

That is my first experience with a temp agency and it will be my last.

When I got home, I almost immediately fell asleep, but after I woke up, I laid in bed for several hours, fighting against crying. The urge to drink was extremely strong and I searched through Google for very strong alcohol brands I could hopefully purchase to intoxicate myself tonight. The intention was to get drunk enough to forget today ever happened, but if it killed me, I wouldn’t have exactly been dissatisfied. After all, when I am so incapable of doing what’s supposed to be the simplest responsibility of adulthood – hold a job – what use do I have to society?

I’ve decided to return to solely applying for jobs, but the deep truth is I’ve given up. I have no more hope of finding any employed work. I have no more hope of making something of myself. I have no more hope of being a useful adult. I don’t expect my life to change or to ever be in a position where I’m supporting myself. I wonder if my promise to myself to avoid drugs and alcohol is truly worth it because it seems I have zero to lose. My friends will eventually move on with their lives, my family will not be able to continue supporting me, and I’ll be left behind. There is really nothing at all I have to lose. Of course, I’d need money to obtain alcohol to begin with, so I couldn’t do so much as an addiction correctly.

There is a hole in my heart from this knowledge and I’ll never be able to fill it. I will die with it. I don’t expect to live out of my twenties. But it may be for the better. I have nothing to offer. Why am I still here? Why should I be here?

Never Good Enough

It’s funny how no matter how much goodness there is in the world, it still pales in comparison to the opposite, whether on a massive scale or a much smaller, more personal one.

I don’t consider myself a horrible person. I’ve never broken the law. I’ve willingly helped people and enjoyed doing so. I’ve helped out at community events, helped clean up a beach, volunteered my time at a food bank, and looked after others’ children. I’m kind to and have helped my best friend and my boyfriend. I’ve stayed up all night multiple times to be there for someone I cared about dealing with a rough night, online and offline. I don’t have any bigotries.

I don’t sound like an awful person and I would hope I’m not. Yet I deal with feelings of worthlessness all the time for one reason and one reason only: I’ve never had a job.

That fact alone makes me feel like I am little more than a plague on society who’d have been better off not existing. I don’t think about it when I’m around others, but when I’m alone, the thought often creeps in and I question if any of the above really matters. I fear losing the positive relationships I have due to losing the respect of those of I care about for being jobless. I question why, if I could make the action to end things painless, I choose to remain alive. I question why I can’t do this one thing it seems everyone has done multiple times by my age, no matter how hard I try. I question if I’m really worth anything, and if what I listed above are merely distractions or ways to make up for my lack of being a contributing member to society.

I’ve lost the ability to see myself in any position different from the one I’m in. This is the only way I can picture myself when I’m 30, 40, 50 years old, assuming I live that long. A small part of me doesn’t want to see any more future birthdays, not even 2017’s. I fear reaching yet another age.

Then, there’s a part of me that feels very selfish. I visited my best friend this past Friday and she briefly vented to me about her job. She has had her job for a full year, but she abhors it and wants a different one. Shortly after, she showed me the new phone she’d gotten. While I still felt sympathy for her troubles at work, a part of me still felt envious solely because she has a job. One she hates and could never live off of, but a job nonetheless. Of course, I kept my feelings to myself and didn’t tell her, but the truth is would it not leave her jobless instead of me, I’d switch places with her immediately if it were possible.

I don’t believe I will ever fit in as a functioning societal member and it’s not a thought that makes me happy. I want to work and I want to be a contributor, but so far, my efforts have resulted in nothing more than rejection and more questions of my own worth. Yes, I’m aware many people experience joblessness, but I believe most of those people had already worked a minimum of two jobs by my age whereas my work experience is absolutely blank.

I hate I have this feeling. I hate the feeling of everything I do meaning nothing because it doesn’t compare to me working and paying for myself to the extent a job would allow me to. I hate this feeling overshadows everything. I know a job is nowhere near fun and I’d likely feel the same as my best friend if I did find a job. I know the difference between imagined expectations and reality, as it’s led to changes in what were my long-term goals. In spite of that, my self-worth is still in question due to my lack of any employment within my lifetime. I feel I could save someone from certain death, and still see myself as having contributed nothing to society when I later returned home.

I remember being a child and believing adults had everything figured out. After all, that’s why adults were in charge of children instead of the other way around. At least, that’s essentially what I was told. I’ve already been looked down on for my age multiple times and I know I will always be sneered at for it by people older than me, no matter what age I’m at. I’ve seen adults whose maturity was outmatched by children look down their noses at me for being younger than them. Age means a lot beyond the laws in society. I’ve not yet found the age where I’m an adult who has everything figured out like the adults I met as a child did. Supposedly, that age does not exist, but I wonder if it really does and I’m one of those people who hasn’t caught up to it yet. I really don’t know what adulthood is supposed to be, but I know I’m doing every ounce of it wrongly.

Lying Versus Lying

Not all of my family members know I have a boyfriend, and the few who do have never met him. The reason for this much of my family is racist and I don’t feel my boyfriend deserves that. This means more often than not, I’m not honest with them about where I may be going with him or what I’m doing. In short, I lie. Yes, I know lying is wrong and I’d never claim it’s not. However, while I’ll admit my own lying is as wrong as others, it seems some people disagree.

What prompted this post is I had a certain relative told me if I have to lie to do something, I shouldn’t do it. The problem here is this same relative also regularly lies and has been doing it for years on end to keep multiple relationships hidden, not from family, but from the people he has those relationships with. When I brought that up on one occasion, his argument was that’s a different matter. I’m not claiming to be any less wrong than him, but I fail to see how lying to double-cross people is better than lying to see your partner and keep them away from your family.

In fact, to one of my family members, my boyfriend’s race does not exist. To him, there are white (Caucasian) people and black (African-American) people. That’s it. No other race exists to him. He refuses to acknowledge there are many more than two races in existence. I do not feel guilty about keeping my boyfriend away from him, even if it is through lying. While I’m on the subject, this same family member is also guilty of lying for the purpose of starting family drama and getting other family members angry with each other.

I’ve had some people tell me I should be honest anyway and my family would come around, but I know this is not true. My best friend shares the same race my boyfriend does, my family has known her for five years at this point, and they continue to be hateful and distrustful of any person of that race. I’ve had to stop them from making racist comments within earshot of her because they believe being in the next room means she can’t hear them. If meeting my best friend multiple times in five years isn’t enough for them to come around, why would meeting my boyfriend be any different?

Another reason I know this is purely about race is when I was with an ex who is the same race, my family had absolutely no objections whatsoever. None. There was no care for where I was going or what I was doing with this person. Only the time I’d return would be in question and that’s merely because my family knows it’s unlike me to stay out after night falls. They never met him because that relationship was short-lived, but I told them everything and got no arguments. Yet the second I mentioned my boyfriend’s race to answer where he’s from when they asked, suddenly, there were a thousand terrible things about him. They didn’t even know his name.

Sometimes, I’m not sure if I will ever tell my family the truth. They may not ever meet my boyfriend and while that does make me sad, it’s a possibility I’m okay with. Maybe it’s the behavior of a teenager, but I’d rather keep our relationship hidden than let him be exposed to that. I’ve told my boyfriend about their racist beliefs, so he knows why I refuse to let him meet them and he’s unsurprisingly fine with it.

When I think about this and read all of this post over, I feel like I’m justifying my own lying, which is the same as what the relatives I mentioned above do. Perhaps I am justifying it and excusing myself. I can’t say I don’t feel like it’s justified, if only because I’m not trying to cheat on my partner or start family problems where there are none. Yet, aside from the one time I tried to explain the hypocrisy, I keep my mouth shut because I still don’t feel I’m right in calling them out on their lying when I also lie.

Handwriting: Outdated Now?

When I was attending my second high school, one of the rules was handwritten homework isn’t allowed. Anyone who turned in handwritten work failed the assignment, regardless of if they would’ve passed otherwise. I always thought that was a strange rule, especially since we did most of the classwork with paper and pencil until the school gave students iPads during my second year.

I asked this in a Facebook group of mine and got this question in response: “Would you turn in handwritten work at a job?” My answer to that question was unless I was told otherwise, I would give handwritten work.

Apparently, that’s not a good idea. Handwritten work is seen as unprofessional (despite that writing takes more work than typing…), so it isn’t acceptable in jobs. That leads me to this question: why was handwriting ever taught to children in the first place?

Yes, that’s a serious question. If school is supposed to prepare children to hold jobs as adults, why was handwriting taught when I was growing up? My elementary school years were a decade ago, so not that long. Shouldn’t I have never been taught how to write in the first place if it’s unacceptable? And why is it still being taught today? I once read an article about how many recent high school graduates have poor reading and writing skills. I don’t know about the reading, but if handwriting is no longer acceptable, it makes why they’d have poor writing skills. They don’t need them.

I have to admit it’s something that makes me sad and little less optimistic about the future. In another decade, maybe less, handwriting will be an obsolete skill, if it isn’t already. That means there will someday be a whole generation that has never learned how to write or has never heard of handwriting. I understand why if it’s a needless skill, but I can’t say it doesn’t make me question my own early education years. Since I don’t plan to have kids, this isn’t I need to be concerned about. It’s merely me trying to adjust the world becoming more and more digitized. I was prepared for typing to be alongside handwriting, not its replacement.

I can’t find it right now, but I remember seeing a political (?) cartoon where two kids were in class and had books. One kid turned to his friend and asked what it was and how to turn it on. I initially rolled my eyes and scoffed at it, but maybe the artist of that cartoon isn’t so far off the mark. Sure, books are typed instead of handwritten, but I can see a kid looking at handwriting, perhaps finding a picture of it on the internet, and asking how they type it instead of how they write it.

Handwriting becoming obsolete also makes me understand giving very small children tablets. I always found that weird because tablets, even ones specifically designed for children, are expensive and small kids are gluttons are clumsiness and accidents. But if they’re going to type their work, whether it’s on an iPad or a computer, instead of writing on paper, little kids do need tablets. At the very least, they have to learn how to type somehow and somewhere.

Personally, I can’t imagine not knowing how to write and despite it becoming an unneeded skill, it’s one I don’t want to lose. At the same time, I suppose it doesn’t matter. If it’s not needed now, it certainly won’t be needed when I’m 30, 40, 55, and so on, assuming I live to those ages. I probably wouldn’t realize I’d lost the ability to write if I ever did, so maybe it’s something I shouldn’t be thinking about at all.

Technology marches on.

Another Holiday

Tomorrow, August 1st, is a day known by some people as International Childfree Day. It’s not a day I particularly care for and I often forget it because there seem to be a lot of “special days”, such as National Donut Day, and I simply don’t have any feelings for them. Plus, so many special days, even if they’re not major holidays, make the idea of special days alone not so special anymore.

However, I’m mentioning this day in particular because despite my feelings about the holiday, I do occasionally think about how different, and how much worse, my life would be if I did have children. I’ve spoken before about how I compare my life at this age to my mother’s when she was this age. Let me clarify right now there is no feeling of superiority. I have never felt that. What I have felt since I was a child is motherhood is a route my mother shouldn’t have taken, but time can’t be reversed.

No, I don’t go around, parading happily how I don’t have children. For what? Like most of my thoughts, these tend to come up at night, when I’m lying in bed and not yet asleep. What often comes to mind is what I’d lose or not even have if at some point between the age I became capable of reproducing and now, I’d become a mother. That includes my own sanity and that is not a joke since I’ve been heavily suicidal in the past. In fact, I strongly fear becoming pregnant, and if that were to happen, my immediate thoughts would shift to self-harm before I thought about terminating it. I believe that speaks for itself.

If it’s not my sanity and mental health, it’s the loss of relationships I’d experience. I’ve read when you have children, you learn who your real friends are, but on the other side, I’ve talked to people who did try to keep in contact with friends who became parents and they couldn’t because those friends would stop responding altogether. Obviously, I don’t know exactly how busy a day with a newborn is, but if it’s busy enough to leave no time to take five minutes to send a text message, that sounds less like “not real friends” and more like the friendship simply faltering due to no time to care for it. That happens to any kind of relationship that’s given too little or no attention. It’s why I lost friends when I switched school districts as a child. We couldn’t keep in contact. In short, it’s natural.

Being honest, I have to admit the above is something that scares me. My friends do want to be parents and I absolutely want that for them since it’s what would make them happy, but I do feel sad at knowing it could spell the end of our friendship because they lack time or I do, and I’d feel selfish and like a pest if trying to keep in touch with them only made their days harder.

My relationship with my boyfriend would be non-existent. We wouldn’t know each other, let alone be a couple. This is because he doesn’t want children either, so if I had a child, neither of us would’ve had a chance with each other. Of course, if I’d never met him, I wouldn’t know any different, but since I did, knowing I could’ve missed out on what’s been and continues to be the most loving and one of the healthiest relationships I’ve had in my life saddens me. We did nearly miss each other, but that was due to not checking messages. That was easily amended.

The third top thing I’d lose due to have a child would be my body. Now, before the cries of vanity come, looks are not what I’m referring to. I try to keep myself neat, but I do not have any care for dressing and looking like I just finished a photo shoot. I’m talking about the effects pregnancy and childbirth would have, such as tearing and having to be stitched up, and bleeding continuously for several weeks. And that’s if it goes well. Heaven forbid it goes awfully because at worst, I’m dead. I don’t care if the stitching and bleeding is “not that bad”. Don’t touch me!

On the list of smaller things I’d lose, there’s my collection of things like Disney and Pokemon, and certain outings I’ve been on. Yes, I know it’s possible to still go hiking, to farms, and to amusement parks with children, but it’s also more expensive and requires more planning. When I was invited to the farm, for example, I didn’t even have to think about saying yes. I hadn’t made any other plans, so I could say yes right away. If I’d a child, especially a small child, I definitely would’ve had to make some arrangements, like finding and being able to pay a babysitter for that day, and having someone arrive early or drop my child off early and return home to be picked up. In my eyes, that’s a pain in the behind. Those things probably seem insignificant and I wouldn’t disagree they aren’t the most important things, but they’re small things I enjoy.

While I still have no plans to do anything in particular for International Childfree Day, I will say the day is a nice reminder of a choice I’m happy to have made for my life. No, my life’s not perfect and I’m positive it never will be because perfection doesn’t exist and life enjoys stomping on people at every turn, but to know I have control over, at least, one aspect of my life is assuring and indeed makes me happy.