Early Adulthood Summarized
A new year begins after one that was unusually eventful. Perfect time to start a new blog. Also a great time to jump on the Tumblr wagon âcause, better late than never. I guess.
It took me a few years to dig up the character to join Tumblr and now that Iâm blogging here, Iâm not gonna lie about the kind of person I am. Iâm not gonna pretend to be sweet and perfect. I had myself convinced I was extraordinary for most of my childhood and I was just setting myself up for disappointment.
So hereâs the truth. I have a lot of negative feelings that I need to flush out of my system. In the past three years, there have been days when I felt like saying...I hate what my life is right now!
I hate having nothing planned. I hate living without somewhere to go five days a week. Having no responsibilities is actually boring. I live with my parents by the way.
Of course Iâm ashamed. I keep depending on other people to make it all better. Every time I try to make myself happy I fail disappointingly, because I canât commit!
That last sentence doesnât mean what you probably think it means.
A lot of you might think Iâm stupid because I wonât let go of my dream. A dream thatâs been there since before puberty. Drawing. Writing. I still want to be someone who greatly contributes to pop-culture. I might even settle for just being someone whoâs creative for a living. Any way you look at it, thatâs a dream that takes serious commitment.
I want it so bad it makes me cry. I should be able to make it happen on my own. For some reason I canât do it. Not when thereâs nothing else going on in my life. Without school or a job, I donât have the urge to draw or write every day. It comes and goes, especially in the spring. But it doesnât come often enough. Thatâs not even my worst problem.
Every so often I start a project. I plan for something big, but I canât finish it. I canât complete anything impressive because I canât commit.
Someone else gives me a deadline and I scramble to make it. I give myself a deadline and I just let it slide.
Whatâs worse is I keep lying to myself about what I can accomplish. Iâm good at something for a few weeks and then I suddenly drop it.
Most of all, I hate being an adult.
I think back to middle school and realize that I was so much more interesting back then. I know I wasnât popular, but I had the potential to be impressive.
When I was thirteen, I would start drawing as soon as I had an idea. I had fun with writing assignments including book reports. Of course, in those days I could start reading a book and finish it in a month. All of that happened when I was looking forward to the future.
In high school, I still had hidden character. But I started getting a lot less out of life. I took art class every year I was there. Tenth grade art class. That was when I first realized I wasnât as good at drawing as I thought. Still, art and english were about the only classes I was good at. Not surprisingly, I had to go through an extra year of high school.
This far into my twenties, nothing has gone as I expected.
I was planning to go to an art college for years. I fantasized about getting accepted. What I didnât see coming is that I didnât get in on the first try.
When I got in after the third interview I learned that college, even for artists, wasnât what I was expecting. It was hard. It was unfamiliar. Possibly the worst part was that I was surrounded by people who were more creative than me. After the first month, it got really hard to be confident.
I needed support from my family to keep going. Someone had to push me every weekend to do my homework.
Gradually, I learned the courses. I even had fun with some of the work. I eventually felt like a real artist.
True, I wasnât the best student there, but at the very least I was trying. Then I started taking a course where I just couldnât bring myself to make an effort.
Anatomy. It was about drawing bones and muscle groups while learning their scientific names. There was very little creativity involved. Maybe Anatomy is an art form but to me, it didnât feel like art. It felt like science. As soon as I encountered a subject that wasnât as much fun as all the others. Thatâs when I stopped trying.
That was it for me and higher education. When Mom explained to me why I wasnât going back in September, a switch was flipped in my mind.
My carefully planned world collapsed under me.
Life became depressing. Since then Iâve grown to hate the woman I am now.
It runs in a cycle. For two or three weeks Iâm happy and inspired, followed by months of depression.
Day after day sitting alone in my room watching internet videos. Binge watching TV shows from when I was a teenager. Or younger.
Usually when Iâm happy I make a plan to do something creative and bold. Something that could change my outlook. But of course, I never follow through.
I keep telling myself that this is the week things are going to get better. Then they stay the same and I beat myself up.
I feel better now. I was crying earlier. Something about writing it all down helped me get it out of my head. Wouldnât be the first time. Journaling can work as a personal excorsism.
Something that might be worth mentioning is that I donât speak the way I write. I can get my point across a lot better if I write it down than if I say it out loud. Thatâs probably true of many people with autism.
Yeah thatâs right Iâm autistic. That doesnât automatically make me helpless. However, it might be the reason Iâm pretty good at using the right half of my brain. Not so much the left half. That also might be why I donât have a lot of marketable skills. But I do have a few.
So now Iâm at the point in the cycle where I feel okay. I feel like making an effort. Any kind of effort. The real challenge becomes, making it stick.
To anyone who took the time to read this whole thing, I got something to say to you.
If Iâm worth it, youâre worth it.
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