A year of unemployment (and still counting!) does a number to the psyche.
I feel myself degrading slowly. Losing my form. Such is the natural state of existence when you're not throwing away about a third or more of your day every day to some... other cause, I suppose.
Understanding why I'm even in this predicament feels impossible. Sure, tough job market for engineers -- that much is undeniable. Hard to shake the feeling that I could have nailed something at this point, no?
It's not like I'm not hearing back period. Companies express interest, but end up dipping out midway through the process. What if it's my lack of real skills? My poor social aptitude (despite my best efforts, certainly)? Could be that I get clocked as a tranny, and that makes me more of a wildcard compared to some regular old dude in the same position. Could be that I sound like I'm stupid -- it's not enough to just get answers correct, but one must also convey authority, lest your answers feel insincere.
Sincerity -- as much as I like to think that as an individual I convey candidness and honesty, I can't really sell it. I stutter. Ponder my words a lot mid-explanation. I speak myself into rhetorical traps and circles because I forgot where I even started. It's always been like this. Interpersonally, in the professional realm, whatever, I can barely get by without being misinterpreted or simply denied reciprocal sincerity.
I know I'm not stupid. To suggest that would be a mockery of my personal achievements, as few as they are, they are impressive. That's what people close to me tell me. High marks in college, the projects i've worked on, the countless rants and messages I've made over the years about the topics that rattle around in my brain. It feels like something to call myself stupid, but that's likely more of a self harm type of feeling than anything I should be encouraging myself to do/believe.
Even if I'm fully aware of the world's chaos, the abyss that will never answer me back, I still yearn for an answer. The answer I'm feeling now? That I stopped developing.
I plowed my way through high school and college. I bootstrapped myself some social skills to gain real friends, close ones. I've had more meaningful relationships than many 24 year olds have. I got a nice job out of college, after more internships than most graduates get. But what have I done since?
- Laid off from my first real job as I was starting to hit a stride in my big project
- Strained romantic entanglements that I shy away from
- Undoubtedly regressed in my software engineering skills in unemployment
- Made no progress in self-motivation -- I can't be assed to start a project half the time, let alone finish one
- Got better at cooking, I suppose
- Made little progress on my issues of jealousy, especially towards people who manage to do the things I wish I could do
- Unlocked panic attacks as a thing that just happens now
Ultimately, I feel stuck. I feel behind where I'm "supposed" to be, whether or not that means anything. Overly critical, I'm sure. That's what everyone tells me -- that I'm too analytical, too critical, that I'm "harsh on myself".
I don't want this to be harsh. I want to be able to step back from my ego, identify where I'm lacking, develop a plan for addressing it, and then address the fucking issue(s). I want to be able to pull off "great things". I want to feel notable. And not even necessarily to other people -- as important as that is to me -- I want to feel notable to myself. I want to feel like I've actually achieved the things I wish I could do. I want to feel satisfied. Is that a crime? To be "harsh on oneself" because you know how much better they could be, and you just want to see them embrace that potential? I have potential. I can't stand the thought that I've summited where I currently am. I hate complacency. It eats away at my core, the idea.
I feel stuck, but I don't know how to unstuck. I feel frozen in time, with limited mobility, cursed to a life of observation. The instructions may be there, but if they are they're written in a language I don't understand if they are -- and as the days bleed into one another the more it feels like they do not exist.
I think a lot. Some would say I'm "stuck in my head", or something of the like. I stare out into the world and take in the sights and sounds a lot. I don't mind long walks on my lonesome, observing the world. It's comfortable, to me. Photography is something I've picked up over the past two years, mostly because it integrates well into that routine of observation.
Even if it is comfortable, I hate it. I hate feeling like an observer. I want to feel important. Useful. Critical. Deserving of respect. Insert as many synonyms as you need to get the point. It feels like if I can't make that happen, then I'm a "waste". Even if that's unreasonable, which it certainly is. I'm worth something regardless of what I do and do not do, right?
I can't live like that. It feels like a waste of myself. No matter how ridiculous that is, no matter how much the people in my life assure me I don't need to prove myself to anyone, I feel this deeply. I might suggest it's for the respect of others, but really it's about myself. I don't respect myself. I feel like I haven't earned it yet. Not now. Not for a while. Not until I have proof beyond a reasonable doubt. Sure, negativity bias and all that is clouding me. I have had it rough these past 13+ months, so to say. But even with all that, all that everyone might say to me, anything, I can't shake the feeling that if I manage to pull through and remake myself in the image of someone who's worth giving a shit about to my eyes, that the euphoria will make up for all the pain the journey brings me.
I might be crazy. Who knows. I'm a living fucking contradiction. Absurdist that still wants to "mean something". Lmao. How many people have I told, earnestly, that the void of meaning is freeing? And yet, even then, I still want to mean something. Why do I doubt what I tell others? Am I misleading the people I care about when I fail to heed my own message?
The euphoria is worth it. I'll keep telling myself that. One day I might figure it out. Make something glorious. Something so good, so great, so compelling, that it shuts the demons inside me and allows me to feel content without feeling guilt afterwards. That people will remember me for something other than my quirkiness. Something tangible. Something that even I, a professional denier, cannot deny.
One day.
