Tag Archives: I Give Up

Improvisation and Coffee Tables

I Think It's Dried Out

I could make a coffee table out of a piece of driftwood. I could turn old, discarded pallets into a headboard. I could sew fabric remnants into a dress. People say I have talent. That I’m creative and good at the things I do. But, I could do so much more. The things I make would be far better if I could just afford the materials that go into them.

“I could make that necklace…but, I don’t have $10.00 to buy the supplies.”

“I could make that felt phone case in 15 minutes…but, it would take sewing supplies that I can’t afford.”

“I could make that…”

“But, I don’t have…But, I can’t afford…But, I would need…But, I can’t get…I can’t get…I can’t…I can’t…I can’t…”

I try to improvise and make my own tools. Sometimes, it works, but most of the time it doesn’t. It’s frustrating, defeating, and embarrassing. I work for hours, only to have the project fall apart. So, I put away my shitty tools, clean up whatever mess I made, wash the glue off my fingers, and wait for the disappointment to go away.

I think about giving it all up. Never picking up a paintbrush, a needle, or a hot glue gun again. But, I keep trying because it’s the only thing I can do. I work until I get it done, until I get it right. And, if I can’t do it without some random, expensive thing, I file the project away in my mind and I wait. I know I’ll make my pallet headboard. I‘ll make that felt phone case. I’ll make that damn bracelet someday.

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Sweet Potatoes Really Are Disgusting

What's Behind Door Number One

I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want to eat, but I don’t want to not eat. I don’t want to exercise, but I don’t want to sit on my ass all day. I don’t want to go outside, but I don’t want to stay inside. I don’t want to play any games, but I don’t want to be bored. I don’t want to be miserable, but I don’t want to be happy either.

This is all the illness talking, of course. At least, that’s what they tell me. I’m afraid I might get to a point where I’m no longer mentally ill, but still take no pleasure in the world. I mean, what if I just don’t like being alive? Some people don’t like carrots, and some people don’t like life. Is that a thing? Does that happen? In addition to my aversion to sweet potatoes, do I also have a general loathing for  life?

Get Back Down There, Worm!

Less Than a Worm

I’m at the bottom, and I’m afraid I always will be. It doesn’t matter how hard I work to climb up, I’m always forced back down. I fall, I get up, I climb. I fall, I get up, I climb. A rising and falling tide, a perfect cycle of failure. It’s happened a hundred times too many, I’m afraid. Cynicism and suicidal ideation are my reaction to everything now. I will lay  in this filth until I break, and when that happens I will kill myself.

I’m making excuses for my personal failure in life, yes? I have a defeatist attitude, yes? I deserve everything I get, or don’t get, yes? I’m weak, yes? I’m stupid, yes? I’m worthless. Yes. I believe I am.

Nail Polish Remover Kills

Fingernails Are Pretty

The screaming and boxing matches between my parents were too much for me. I was scared and sad all the time, and I had no means of escape. When I stumbled on a chance to end it, I took it.

“This stuff is poisonous, so go wash your hands,” my mother said, twisting the cap onto the bottle of nail polish remover.

Poisonous? Really?

I walked down the hallway and slowly entered the bathroom. I turned on the water, and pretended to wash my hands as I stared into the mirror. I said goodbye to my tiny reflection, and walked to my bedroom. I said long, tearful goodbyes my stuffed animals, and somberly knelt down in front of the window. I put my fingers in my mouth, and waited to die.

I was very upset when the poison failed to kill me. Taking more of it, or finding some other poison never crossed my tiny, little mind. Kindergartners just aren’t that smart.

Get a Job, You Dirty Hippy!

(This makes me sound like one of those people. I don’t think I am, but draw whatever conclusions you like.)

I have major depressive disorder, severe anxiety, an eating disorder, temporomandibular joint dysfunction (TMJ), debilitating headaches, and aches and pains all over my body that the doctors have dubbed Fibromyalgia.

I have tried to hold a job. I desperately want to hold a job. I don’t want to be so poor that buying toothpaste is a major financial decision. Sadly, the crazy and the pain stop me every time. I ultimately fail at everything I attempt, and I despise myself for it. Why can’t I just function like a normal human being?

Dirt

The dirt of poverty creeps in and infests every corner. You’re so busy worrying and struggling and fighting the world, you don’t notice the dust, dirt, and debris piling up. Then you look around you, and all of a sudden the mess is leering at you from every nook and cranny.

Shame washes over you, and you grab a bucket and a scrub brush, and you set to work. The more you clean, the more you notice is dirty.  So, you scrub and scrape until your arms feel like they’re going to fall off. You get to a point where you just can’t move anymore. You look at the progress you made, look at the progress you didn’t make, and your sense of accomplishment dwindles away like the embers of fireworks. Crushing defeat settles in, and you bury your face in something, so you can’t see what a failure you are.

The Dirt's Creeping In Again