first september weekend

My weekend has not been a good one. It has been all about the thought process. Thoughts about life and my situation. I have also cried. A lot. The conclusion (if one can call it that) has just left me sad and in a desolate state. This past one and a half year has really, really put me to the test and my hope and belief that everything will be alright, that people are basically alright and that Sweden is a basically pretty decent country. From the "this is not me" in a blogpost in January last year, things have simply spiralled downwards.

I have since regularly written posts of misery and blue, of disbelief and "this can't be meant to be". With a  few dots of hope, of what will finally be thoughts, here and there.

The gap between never doubting one's own capability and competence and the fact that this society of ours isn't very interested in someone like me (and many others) contributing - that is a tremendeously heartbreaking gap.

These past weeks have certainly been the icing of this awful tasting cake and I simply do not know what to do now. Some years ago I left the workplace-from-hell, its goodbye present being finding myself in a black hole working my way back to be myself again. Even a better version of myself. I can safely say that that extended time I spent soulsearching and working with myself and my outlook on life, that was a time well-spent (so, seriously, thank you workplace-from-hell for that opportunity!). And even when things were as black as they could be I knew things could only get better after all that pain. But things still haven't become that "better", it's a constant struggle against stupidity and the Swedish "welfare" system. Now I simply wonder, will they ever really be?

A good friend wrote this in an email last year (it really stroke a special cord in me); "I've never believed in convention if it only brings a person misery, and you're far too bright a light to be dimmed within such confines."

At the worst of times I have been able to hold on to "this too shall pass", "things will get better", "this misery is what makes me a better, more compassionate person" and so forth. I have after all a roof over my head, food on the table, charming furries, decent people to talk too, great shoes. But I have now reached a point where I'm complete at a lost. I have tried so many roads, so many leads, talked, talked, written, written. Positive feedback, you're such a great person, but no thank you.

There seem to be so so much creativity around, great persons working with inspiring stuff, doing good deeds (for which they actually get paid, go figure!), people that actually have a healthy outlook on life, outside the 9-5 confinement of the hamster-wheel. So why on heaven and earth do our paths never cross for work-real? Now why do not the stars align for my benefit?

Oh yes, I certainly love the exchanging of good and inspiring ideas, but I do need a decent income, I need those ideas and sparks to be so much more than just another fleeting idea. Because they do not pay the bills (nor the great shoes).

During these trying times I've always had the comfort and security of being me, solid self esteem, knowing who I am, never feeling that I am nothing but a pawn in a dirty, despicable political game and a colder social climate. I have been able to work my way through all this resistance. Because I had my spark. My hope. This weekend I realised I do not feel that bright light, that spark inside me anymore. And that, that scares me. 

Maybe it's a phase, but I'm oh so tired, exhausted. The notion alone of "having to explain my story" to another petty, stupid job officer king/queen makes me sick. I. do. not. need. this. I'm running on empty.

The looking at small good matters, having a positive outlook, holding on to the bright stuff in life and the writing about it, even during rough times, it just feels futile and hollow right now. Writing has always been such a a comfortable, wonderful way of letting out steam of frustration. Looking at all things bright and beautiful (including good nights' sleep and a nice piece of cake), writing about it, sharing have been a way to refuel energy.

I'm not looking for a pity party, I simply felt I had to get this down in blog. It just isn't a day, nor a weekend, of fun and bright things. My new facial expression seriously threatens to be permanent. It is frightening.