Fear is a sneaky bitch.
I think fear and alcohol have more connection than one happening to erase the other. Because when you’ve had too much alcohol, you are quick to convince yourself your fine. Quick to assess and say I AM UNAFFECTED BY DRINK! And when you’re living your every day life you are quick to assess and say I AM UNAFFECTED BY FEAR! But I think both of those assessments are inaccurate.
Even when I convince myself that I am comfortable, later on I will look at decisions and realize I acted because of a subconscious fear. Fear is not just fear of spiders. or fear of leeches. fear of the dark. As a young adult, in truth or dare, in an effort to get to know each other, I’ve been asked, What is your greatest fear? and I don’t like that question, because I think it’s pretty personal.
So this morning, I get up for work. 5:30 a.m. It’s raining which means my work, watering flowers, doesn’t technically need to be done. I check my phone, because i fell asleep at like 7 p.m. last night, both a cry for help and an effort to avoid the anxiety of being awake. I click on Instagram and the top photo is a photo of a boy and a girl, face close-up, their cheeks touching, mouths smiling. I stare harder and try to decide if I can assume it’s fake happiness. That’s a no go. I face it, one last boy I was holding out for has found someone else. Launch a 5:30 a.m. pity party and jump in the shower. I walk slowly around the house, my brain stuck in the glue-like sludge that is indecision. If I go to work, I’ll be v slowly fed small side projects like scraping old paint off doors and maybe cleaning bathrooms, all while trying to think of some mental distractions. If I stay home I can potentially get through some of my weekly goals, but will immediately be met with the racing anxiety and personal mantra of “you’re not doing enough”. I took the risk and stayed home. which means no money for me today. wah. another anxiety.
This decision has led me to be here, 8 a.m., 20 tabs open on this internet window, reading all I possibly can about selling vintage clothing on the internet. I am no stranger to trying to fight the beast of over comparison, but when you’ve got no boots on the ground and are looking at sellers who can manage to sell an 80s Harley Davidson top for $80 + it can feel a lot like insta-surrender.
The longer I stay living at my parents, the more I feel incapable of living out in the real world like a struggling young adult. I look at job postings and wonder how I could ever see myself chasing something that. I look at job postings and wonder wtf I went to school for. I feel more and more lost, like my parents house is the island, but im stuck in the surrounding ocean. I realize the kind of shelter I’m living under right now. We live outside a very small town. Less than 900 people. As far as someone supporting me in a move to a bigger city, it’s hard not to feel embarrassingly ignorant and unstylish. But someone’s got to break the barriers. i’m jealous of everyone and jealousy is a weak thing. I am crumbling.
I’ve grown my clothing collection to be pretty good for a beginner this summer. My worries are, I don’t know how to emit “cool” vibes, because that’s what seems to sell. I am hyper aware that many people find joy in curating their items, and that that’s the easiest part. I don’t want to be another blip in the vintage sellers who think they’ll make easy money. I’m trying to have low expectations but I keep getting stuck because I am bad at starting things and I get scared scared scared. Today I am crying as I write this, and soon my mother will be home and I will probably cry again and she will reduce my tears to the post-college transition and other simplification.
Life goes on. And I’ve reread I’ve written and I sound pretty freakin generic. i just want to be a special snowflake….. duh.
I seem to have successfully, temporarily distracted myself from the fact that although today is a weekday I am home not making money, not making friends, and not setting myself up to make money.
be you and that’s enough. (????) uncertainty.
ebb and flow.