Quoted by Jean Cocteau…
“Je me sens une difficulté d’être.” So a Monsieur Fontanelle said as he lay dying, when asked what he was feeling. I wonder if my experience is something like that, a sort of sense that you’re almost moving through water, fighting the currents life throws at you. Some people move over an oncoming wave, rise above it, ride it and live full, happy lives. People like me can’t seem to. We fight the water for breath and hope, but eventually we go under.
For the past few years, I had a kind of hope for myself. I was attending a real college, a lifelong dream of mine, and I had hope of a career I might love, that I might someday own a house, be a functioning adult. It looks like that dream may be over, as my financial aid doesn’t cover enough anymore. I’m taking next semester off to try to find more funding, and work more in the meantime just so I can pay my taxes. But if I can’t return to school, I don’t know what I’ll do. I like my current job, but it will never pay enough to support an independent life. In the meantime, I keep getting reduced to a child again, listening to my parents fight, wishing the RA inside me would just hurry up and kill me.
If I had been born someone else, anyone else, it would be better. It’s rare that I see someone who I would not switch bodies with in a heartbeat. I’m tired of feeling bitter and jealous, I know these things are poisonous. I’m tired of walking on eggshells around my mother’s anger. I’m tired of watching my sisters try to deal with life with the rotten hand they’ve been dealt. I want to go back in time and shoot all my ancestors dead so we never would have existed. I’m tired of feeling anxious around my aunt because she’s just normal and kind and I don’t know how to deal with that.
I feel a difficulty of being. I don’t want to be anymore.