On Giving Up
Successful Living Is Just Too Hard Sometimes
For Sale: A 24-year old college student struggling to earn her Bachelor's Degree. Is intelligent, world-weary, and disappointed in the lack of opportunity in today's modern society. Item for sale has already earned her Associate's Degree, but under no circumstances should be considered for any serious commitments due to the fact that she is still an undergraduate and struggles financially on a daily basis. This individual is willing to learn new skills or expound upon those already in existence, and holds great experience in the fields of family turmoil, being looked down upon, not being good enough, and simply trying to survive. In purchasing this item for sale, the buyer accepts all responsibilities for the individual not meeting expectations and failing to achieve what the more affluent members of society consider "success."
Selling My Soul
There once was a time when I was full of dreams. I wanted to do everything and anything, and I wanted to be the best at something. I was unassuming, gracious, forgiving, and in love with the opportunities that life seemed to offer.
Now, I often wonder what happened to that person. That girl, who loved with such a huge and open heart but who always seemed to serve as a moving target for pain and a loss of hope, has disappeared. And in her stead is a woman both weary of life's battles and tired of merely being herself.
But more so than this, I ponder what sin I had committed in my past that would serve as the basis for such incredible suffering and sadness. I look around myself and, whereas there are people suffering in much the same manner as I, I wonder what horrible and grotesque acts I have exclusively performed to have earned such a loss of faith. And hope. And dreams. For now, I am merely existing in a state of emotional turbulence, never to ascend that youthful ladder of self fulfillment again.
I am selling my soul on a daily basis. I sacrifice constantly to make ends meet. There are times when I just simply cannot afford food. I have done the best I can and to what avail? My most prized possession is my home, which has offered me a place of refuge far from the tragedies that have shattered my family. I am too tired to enjoy living, for selling oneself on employment websites every day is draining on one's self worth. Merely waking up in the morning to commute to my dead-end job is a task for which I have not the energy, if only because I know that I am wasting away, hardly using the talents which I so flaunted early on in life.
How is that people can so easily dismiss me on account of information? Why was I, at one very recent point in my life, a total and utter force to be reckoned with and now am merely a waterspout? A rustling of leaves on a busy city sidewalk used by entrepreneurs and socialites, future conquerors of distant countries, current possessors of wealth and prosperity? What have I done to differ so greatly from these individuals who think nothing of the trials of my life?
I Have Tried....
....to be a good person. I have tried to save people, help those in need, send a little bit of hope in these dark times to others who may cling to it as if to a life line. I feel in my soul the pain and anguish of every homeless person I pass on the streets; veterans from foreign wars, once hailed as heroes, now regarded as the filth of the country; people who have lost their jobs, their spouses, their children, their homes, and for what? Why do these awful things happen to good, hardworking people?
I find myself wondering why the individuals I currently work with are employed while others are not. These people complain, manipulate, bemoan, and trash the reputations of others while earning a living which requires no power of the mind whatsoever. How have I ended up here, with these harpies, these coworkers of mine that would so forcefully throw one of their own under the proverbial bus and then smile delicately in that unfortunate person's face? Why has fortune smiled upon them and granted them decent-paying jobs while others of more solid moral fiber rot in the streets?
A famous author once alluded to the idea that if a human being should ever lose their compassion for their fellows, they shall cease to be human, for compassion is what separates us from the animals. I know that one day, I will drag myself out of this miserable pit and become something. And whereas it may seem selfish for me to commiserate with myself, know that I also commiserate with those other people who share my exact same sentiments. For when I travel further down the road of life, perhaps with a little more money in my pocket, know that I will not shoulder past those hapless souls with outstretched hands, begging for humility and understanding. Rather, I will kneel before these people who were once me, grab their hands, and yank them to their feet.