Welcome to the S*** Show

January 18th, 2023 8:13pm

It's surprising that I haven't written in this since July. Considering my life has not been all fairy tales and pixie dust. 

I've probably said this before, and I'll say it again: I want to skip ahead. I want to fast forward to when the plot of my life starts to get good. I want to be in my 30s, living in a nice house, with my boyfriend, or husband, or whatever. With our children, and maybe our dog and a cat. 

I want to wake up to freshly brewed coffee, that I resourced. To the screaming and running around of toddlers. To a hug from behind, and a kiss on the forehead. To a job that I don't dread going to, because I have a home and a family to come back to at the end of the day no matter what. 

I shouldn't romanticize skipping years into my life. My dad tells me that when I get to that point, I'll look back and wonder why I was so desperate to fly through 'the best years of my life' he says. 

But are they the best? To me, my 20's just seem like years of slaving for that future I so desperately want. And nothing can be good about that. Leave the hard work behind, and grant me my reward. I know I should be living in the moment--for the moment. But it sucks. 

The world, fucking, sucks. 

My job sucks, people suck, I wish I could turn back the clock and tell 12-year-old me, to not go into healthcare. 

I could tell any version of me prior to college apps but, something about the age of 12 is definable. Indistinct. The age of gaining consciousness. 

i could have just become another science nerd, like my brother, I could have worked with animals, instead of people. Anything that doesn't come with the crippling, soul-crushing, anxiety and unmeasurable dread, of being responsible for lives. Human lives. 

I am 22 years old. 

I am a child. 

I am expected to take care of your grandmother. Your grandfather? Your son, your daughter, your mother, your father. 

What do you take care of?

Do you manage funds? Enter in statistics? Worry about the probability of having a high margin of error for your research? Put up walls? Tear them down? Call families to tell them their late on payments. Clean teeth? Stock shelves?

I watch people die. 

At the age of 22

I push fentanyl for your loved one, when theyre taking their last breaths. 

I tell the family, "They are no longer with us, I have to grab the physician." 

I watch people cry when their loved ones die. And I don't know how to be more compassionate. I am 22. Why did I sign myself up for this?

For heavy breathing, chest pain, and crippling panic attacks as I sit in my car every morning before work. 

Constantly wondering how I can fuck up next. Constantly questioning if I am doing enough. Constantly fearing other people talking about me behind my back. 

Oh how I'd fucking kill, to work behind a counter, answering customer retail questions. What I would do to have a job like being the owner of a book store combined coffee shop. 

This career is heavy, it's not for the faint of heart. And maybe if i was in a different specialty then I would feel better. But unfortunately, I convinced myself that I would be less, if I didn't go into one of the hardest specialties straight out of school. 

Know this, 

you are never less for doing something that is better for you. 

You only get one life, don't waste time in a career that's slowly suffocating you. 

I am trying my best, but I don't know how much longer I can last. My father adds pressure to me about going back to school for this godforsaken career. Isn't what I've already gone through enough?

So yeah, I want to wake up in that farmhouse on a strip of land, with my kids shaking my bed, asking me what's for breakfast. With my husband kissing me good morning. With my family not too far away. I want peace. I want that happiness.