22nd July 2015

You never amounted to anything. At least that’s how you feel. Whenever someone asks you what you do, like when you’re at a party, you mumble about some half finished projects until the person politely happens to spot a friend on the other side of the room.

At least that’s how you feel it happens. Maybe if you had more confidence you could impress people with your hidden depths. Maybe if you had some depths to hide you’d be more confident. Maybe if you believed in yourself more. But what’s there left to believe in? You’ve long since given up your dreams of becoming famous. Or successful. And you’ve all but forgotten your childish fantasies of being spotted for your looks. Until one day you are. You’re just walking down the street when a casting agent picks you out of the crowd—

LOL. That doesn’t actually happen. You find it hard to live in reality anymore. You feel an acute pressure in your chest after extended periods of living in reality. Most of your time is now spent trying to escape it. You have tools at your disposal — drink, drugs, Friends (season two) — and they work, permitting you a temporary release from yourself. When they are expended you descend into an all-encompassing malaise. “Why me?” you ask, and indeed it seems a reasonable question. Why have you been tasked to carry this burden? Forever weighing you down. Down so much lower than everyone else. Down to hidden depths. Lol. But you know everyone experiences these downs (at least you tell yourself you know), and that making a martyr of yourself, for yourself, will do nobody any good. Especially not you.

So for the most part you get on with your life. Focused on a point in the distance. And by going through the motions, engaging in the day to day, you find some solace in the little things, coming to the realisation that it’s not all bad. That there is a space for you in this world. That if you stop focusing on what you’re supposed to be you can sometimes enjoy being who you actually are.

And then you probably live happily ever after.

How should I know?

I’m not you.