By Dustin Medler of Depressive Dusty
Wipe the blood from your cheek. Life is winding up to knock you down again. It’s a battle you inevitably can’t and won’t win. When do we decide to give up or fight back?
It happens for some people in small bursts. Little set backs in life that make things inconvenient. You lost your car keys, your phone is dead, and you are late for work.
Life: 2. You: 0.
When I look at the recent beat downs I have received, I feel like the life cops are targeting me on the street, hired by the mob with loads of money that I will never see. Batons are out. Nothing lethal, but enough to break spirit and bones.
It starts with the mirage that the decisions you make are good ones. You believe these moves will have positive outcomes. Then you move 3,000 miles, 500 miles, 40 miles. You break up with your guy/gal. To a new job. To a new life. Then reality sets in.
You won’t be able to find work. You are far too nervous to meet people. You don’t feel like you have anything you can bring to the table. You watch your bank account turn into cans of beer and cigarettes. Familiar failure takes their shoes off, gets comfortable, and decides to stay a while.
It doesn’t seem fair. All of your friends are in loving relationships. You don’t have a reason to be in love. Jobless, holes in all of your socks, and your muscles are giving up on you every morning. As if they are saying, “Child, don’t get up. Stay right where you are. You don’t have a chance today.”
This goes on for weeks, months, or years. In my case, it has been years. I don’t ever fully get out of bed. I fight all of my instincts to give up this battle that I can’t win.
I am realizing that I am no longer trying to search for happiness. I thought that getting out in the world and traveling would create a warm sensation in my soul. I have created that on certain days.
I realize I am running from my own life and my own passions. I never give myself enough time to focus on what I love. I’m short-handing myself at every corner. Then life makes sure that I learn my lesson by nothing coming easy.
Perpetually trying to get on my feet since I was 20 years old. Staying at other people’s houses. Finding a job. Getting comfortable. Then I start to feel strangled. I am not seeing enough of the world. I quit. I leave. I have 2 weeks of fun followed by months of loneliness and regrets.
I tell my loneliness and failures that they have outstayed their welcome in this body. I at least tell them that their lease is running up. Although they haven’t packed up yet, I know they won’t be around much longer. I greet them everyday knowing that they will soon be gone. I embrace them for the final times I get to share with them.
I tell my feelings that this is bullshit. I’m not dealing with their back talk anymore. My plan is set. I am going to stave off my hopelessness with paychecks and create a life I want to live in. I will make my own brass knuckles for the next fight that life wants to start. I’ll go down in the first round.
But come the second round, I’m not going down.
This post was originally published on Depressive Dusty.
About Dustin Medler
Dustin Medler is a mid 20’s vulnerable writer originally from Upstate New York, although his feet never stay planted long enough to sign a lease and get his life together. He lives from couch to couch with a back pack and a bag of depression that you can experience at Depressive Dusty or on Facebook where his vulnerability and honesty comes to forefront. Although the articles he writes come from a dark place, his unexpected use of humor and self-criticism will have you laughing as you want to hide from the world.