Today I am 23 years old. I am 129 to 130 lbs. Which makes me ten pounds heavier than when I first turned 22.
I am at this really odd point in life. I have a nostalgia for the past. But not necessarily what I was doing, but who I was.
I have this optimism and vision of what my future should look like.
But as of now, I am here. And I am writing this. With visions of hours before being in a classroom and not having anything to say. Which most of my life has never bugged me. But here I am trying to move out of the classroom and wave my stupid little hand in the air to life and say, “I did it! I am worth something! Something better”.
I remember there was a point in my life when I was 19. I had no car. I got laid off around Christmas time. My parents had just had all of there belongings repossessed. And I babysat once a week for 30 dollars.
30 fucking dollars a week. I would put 20$ in my parents gas tank so that I could go to my boyfriends house, or drive to Hesperia to his band practice. I spent the other 10$ on one role of film and one processing fee. So every week I developed one role of film, and bought another for that week to photograph with. In my spare time I would paint. This got me through Christmas and between semesters at school and finally to a different job.
But I also had so much more back then. I could reflect on why i was sad. I could pull at the world around me to create something from my mind and make it a reality. I developed film and knew why I took a photo. I could stare at a completed painting with satisfaction that my imagination became tangible. I possessed the power to control my mind and my surroundings.
And that is what makes me nostalgic. Now its all this adult, grown up dress, guessing games. Where what I imagine in my head may never actually happen. I am going to school two days and working five in HOPES of getting “a better job”. I am calculating how much money a month I would loose if I worked ONE day less. One day less so I can work harder to get a “better job”. Which would come out to 240$ less a month. Which I can not afford. I used to budget 30$ for a week and put creativity first. Now I am budgeting the loss of $70 a day to be more productive.
What I miss most about my creative state of poverty was how much better I used to write. I felt connected to my writings. They were not straight forward. They were metaphors of how I felt, they were not tangible but understood on an intimate level. Now when I write, even when its just about myself, its very concrete. My concerns are real life concerns. Jobs. Money. Rent. Possibilities. Risks.
I don’t have time to create because I live in creations. At work I know how to respectfully present myself, at school I know how to read and how to respond on a paper, when I get drunk I know it has to be fun so I don’t let myself feel sad, I have become a more distant version of myself.
I think ourselves, are stories we tell oursevles and that others retell for us. And I think without old friends and my boyfriend, I probably wouldn’t recognize myself. Today. As i write this. As school tears apart movies and motives of myself. While work puts my worth into sale numbers. As I have engulfed selves for “survival” but have lost my inner voice, my inner artist.
I pray this is a phase. I hope this is worth it and I hope I can achieve everything I need, but more than that I hope I know how to feel when something is lost. I hope I learn to create again.