In my own little corner...

I had the Britney level meltdown a few months ago.

The whole, "pulled my hair out and pressed my nails into my skin until it bled"... The scars on my face healed but I have some crescent moons on my midriff that has not healed, and it's been about two months since.

All my life I have desperately tried to generate an income. I have sent applications until that, in itself, became a job. Just one without income.

I landed a job as a waitress in Dubai, left South-Africa, my family, my life, knees buckling... a three year contract! Only to return after just 6 months, terribly ill.

Used the money I made there to qualify as a hypnotherapist, and had enough left to rent a small office space for my practice. After 6 months and only one client, I loaned money for the rest of the rent and eventually had to close shop, in debt.

Got a job teaching an extra-curricular class for babies and toddlers. It paid off my debt and I could buy a car, that I fully paid off... still living with my parents on the wrong side of my 30's.

My health had started making my job an uphill mountain to climb each day. I didn't know how much longer I could do it, but Covid ended it FOR me.

My stepsister was going to take me under her wing for her nail business. I just needed to spend the last of my savings on a very expensive nail-tech course, and she would provide me a table within her nail salon and I'd start out by doing pedicures until I got better at it... only she changed her mind right after I had paid for the non-refundable course.

Tried doing nails from home but then my family had to move to a small town in the middle of nowhere. Pandemic repercussions and all that. There was no space for my nail station in the new house, and I sucked at it anyway.

Streamed on Twitch because there were no opportunities there, but after only an hour my voice would go hoarse; after a 3 hour stream I would have to lie down for 6 hours and had no voice the next day. I was going to persevere but my computer gave up on life...

We moved back. This time I moved in with my boyfriend, finally being able to leave my parent home at the age of 36.

I was close to giving up hope on finding a job or creating one for myself, until my friend offered that I'd do a course with her. "This must be it", I thought!

I gave it my all, as I did with everything. My work outshone most of my fellow students. And it was a simple formula, do these steps to land a client and make money. Easy. Even people with really bad quality of work landed clients within two months, which was considered a really long time, because for some of them, when the course was done, it was mere days and they would have a client.

After five months of sending out applications and proposals, back and forths with possible clients, that never landed, I finally crashed. Which led me to my Britney meltdown.

When I finally got up, I could feel something had died within me. My hope, gone. But also my persistence, my hard work, my "can do" attitude, my "boss babe - future CEO" mentality... All gone.

...

My, now fiancé, and I are struggling to get by financially, and I mean food and basics are a problem already... but here I am, finding myself physically unable to send another application. I was numb for a few days, eventually falling into a deep depression, and this is where I am now, still.

I realised I experienced an identity death. Who am I when I have nothing to strive for? No goals, no ambition, no "try again"... I guess I'm figuring that out now. On anti-depressants for the first time in my life, and in sessions with my councillor.

I am grieving the life I thought I'd have. I was the A+ student, the Hermoine Granger, always learning, always productive, always doing research. I have gotten up at 5am since I was 12. I took care of my body and my mind, there wasn't a box on the road to success that I didn't tick.

I put my whole life aside because I was desperate to make an income. For what? For being labelled lazy, unorganised, stupid... because I never had results to show for it and people eventually made up their own reasons for it in their minds.

Being smart, pretty, talented and hard working sure didn't pay off for me.

My doctor said my vitals are good. That I've been living on burn-out for at least 3years. That my nervous system is shot. My house is a mess, obviously adding to my anxiety. But since we moved here, which btw, was my 4th move in 5 years... I just lacked the energy to properly unpack. Almost two years of living with an entire room still filled with boxes, and the others still in chaos.

People judge me for it. Not knowing my severely limited energy or the recent days I couldn't get out of bed, wanting to die.

Next year I will be 40. I have no career, my partner and I can't afford a wedding, nevermind building a family. It was our dream to adopt, but we can't even afford bread sometimes.

And now I'm supposed to be learning that I am, that my little life is, enough? That I am worthy as I am, that I should stop feeling ashamed and start living?

And I watch people with no skill or intellect, who use drugs and whore around and haven't done a day's worth of hard work, and they just land in the milk and honey every time. I mean, my affirmations and positive thinking pre-meltdown never did THAT.

I need to accept that this is my life now. Because my "trying" has ceased to exist. I can't get myself to send an application or build something out of thin air again... It is done. Over.

And as I walk with a corpse within my body and a hole in my heart, the world still expects me to show up, still judges me for my chaotic home, still calls me lazy...

And here I am, trying. Differently this time. Stretching in the mornings, letting the dishes pile up. Journaling. Reading. Going on walks. Trying to self-soothe as much as possible. I created this Tumblr page to help me heal, like a digital junk journal with pictures that spark joy and posts like these to clear my head and mark the miles as I am climbing this mountain, back to myself.

That's not the point. It was just one of those evenings that felt like a fun sleepover and not like we've been living together for 3 years and dating for 7. We talked and talked and kissed and kissed and I just woke up feeling really good today. Which is big, as I have been battling depression lately, but I am really putting in the work to deal with the underlying issues.