Here's to Being an Emo

I’m starting to grossly dislike the tone of this blog.  I know I could just write about something different; something happy perhaps.  However, I would be lying not only to my two readers but to myself.  Ever feel like you’ve reached your breaking point?  Allow me to elaborate.

I am 26 years old, nearly 27.  I still live at my father’s house.  My father, who is extremely possessive and controlling; I seldom leave the house for the aggravation of his mood swings are not worth it.  I have never been on a date.  I have four degrees for which I worked extremely hard, and I don’t even earn $12 an hour.  Gas in one month is nearly half of a paycheck.   I have looked for other employment opportunities to no avail.  I have applied for 11 positions with ASU, and not one has contacted me for an interview.  I am tired of delivering mail to people around the office; I am tired of finishing people’s projects and performing the work that belongs under another job title without fair compensation.  I am tired.  I cannot lie; I have contemplated suicide more than once.

There is a guilt that I feel when stating that last sentence publicly.  I know there are others who are suffering far more than I ever will.  Maybe it’s a depression for which I need medication.  Maybe it’s the PTSD I incurred as a result from being sexually assaulted by my own cousin.  Who knows?  I am tired of this melancholy yet cannot shake it.  I wish I had the means to move out, start living.  I simply cannot afford it.  My dream is to attend Durham University in England for two Masters Degrees.  I’m sure of my acceptance along with some scholarships and grants, but I would still need student loans.  Yet I fear the struggle to pay them completely off for I am struggling to pay off the loans I have now.

Nothing feels worth it to me anymore.  My family only makes me feel worse about myself.  I have a father who won’t let me live, a mother who just doesn’t care for her own social life is more important, and I won’t even go into my issues with my sister.  She treats her own children like shit (mainly her daughter), why should I be any different?

I miss my grandfather. I don’t know why but having him around created a comfort and security in me.  I need out; out of this rut, out of this life.  Anyway, back to living my life through books. Speaking of, happy birthday to my favorite poet and libertine, the Earl of Rochester.  He would be 365.  Bon soir.