Wasted Potential

Maybe I didn’t get the cool art job I wanted in a museum and maybe I’m not with the hottest, richest man and yeah, maybe I could lose a few pounds and perhaps put some nicer makeup on and look more girly and maybe I could stop getting tattoos and maybe my stretched ears are too much for some to handle and maybe, just maybe I could stop comparing myself to all the fake lives posted on Facebook and Instagram with the fake smiles and fake poses and fake bodies photoshopped and set up photo shoots that make you look desperate for attention and likes.

Because, let’s face it, that’s 75 percent of the reason we’re all somewhat depressed—fake people and their fake lives.

I am and have been depressed for many years now. I’m currently in a super low point in my life and I don’t quite see the light at the end of the tunnel and yes, I’ve had dark thoughts go through my head lately, really, really dark thoughts but, somehow, I manage to keep myself functioning, or, at least, alive.

You see, a few years ago I dreamed of working in a museum in Montreal. I wanted to be a curator or restore art pieces and be immersed in that art world. I went on to do this crazy Master’s, thinking it would get me a step closer and once finished, I immediately knew it would amount to nothing. I couldn’t get into any jobs I wanted. I felt like a fucking failure. I had worked hard and I knew my stuff, why were all these other hipster kids getting the jobs I wanted? How were they better than me? Who’s dick they suck to get there? I had all the qualifications and maybe even more and, there I was, in my shitty, smelly one and a half apartment in Rosemont, depressed and working in a fucking coffee shop!!

So I set my eyes on Europe.

I decide that maybe the art world over there would be accepting and open and cool and fun and fresh and... it was nothing like that. The art world there seems to be very traditional and conservative, and I kinda felt like I would not fit in, not to mention that there was a major language barrier that stopped me dead in my tracks. Great, now what? Work in a god damn call center. Over-qualified? Absolutely! Shitty boss? You bet! Stupid hours with shitty pay? Oh, you know it!

I quit.

I took some months off to regroup myself and all my demons and perhaps this would help me find another route to where I wanted to be.

Nope.

So, now, here I am, crying while typing this, thinking to myself that everything I have ever done to accomplish my goals and dreams is now, you guess it, useless. I wasted all those years to study and dream and work and work harder and keep pushing myself for what? For a fucking online teaching job that I don’t like, that keeps me trapped at home all day? I live in a country that does not understand me, that I don’t understand them, I have no friends, no family, and the support, uh, what support? Sometimes, I think to myself that I would be better off dead. That maybe, life isn’t meant for everyone to live. You know, maybe I’m just not cut out for this shit… I don’t know. I don’t have the answers anymore.

I used to.

I used to be sure of myself. Confident and full of pride and burning with a desire to live life.

Now, I feel like a fucking 100-year-old woman trapped to her bed with aches and pains and stomach aches and ulcers and losing hair and—depression.

You see, even though I had many years of controllable depression where it seemed like I was able to function and do things and work and have friends and whatever else “normal” people do and have, I knew deep down that it wouldn’t always stay like this. And now, well, everything has been falling apart. How do you manage to stay sane when all your life you’ve wanted to obtain very few but quality goals, almost achieving them but never really getting there? How do you live with yourself when everyone around seems to have their shit together and you can barely wake up in the morning and make yourself something to eat? How and why is this happening to me? I feel like wasted potential. I feel like I should have the motivation and the courage and whatever else is needed to get to where I want to be but, something keeps stopping me, something keeps holding me back—depression.

I would be foolish to think that one day I could obtain everything I ever dreamed of being. I would be even more foolish to think that I deserved all those things. Life isn’t meant to be happy and pleasant for everyone, maybe I just got unlucky.