I had an epiphany this morning in the shower. I’ve been living in Flight or Fight mode since I was 10 years old. (And yes, I’ve experienced Freeze mode as well, but that manifests as an intense phobia towards stinging insects.) And while this fact may be interesting to consider, the fact remains that I’ve been conditioned to be on the alert for and to rapidly respond to a variety of cues.
Throughout my schooling, I’ve raced to keep up with the rest of my classes, often failing by a lot. I’m prompted to answer questions, to learn irrelevant facts, and as we’re quickly finding out, much of our written history has been mis-transcribed, so to speak. I furthered this conditioning by joining the military (at my step-mother’s insistence). How else am I to afford a quality education in college? So, I volunteered to get screamed at by a drill instructor for six weeks. Yes, I am considered a pussy by the other branches of military service. I thought the Air Force had the best options available to offer me towards my pursuit of being a computer programmer. My childhood dream.
But that was not to be, because as an asocial nerd who was repressed and deprived during my adolescent years, I fell into the wrong group of friends and wound up losing everything a week before I turned 21. Up until that point, I was considered the straight and narrow type. I was a goody-two-shoes. I always obeyed. With a bad conduct discharge, thirty-six months of imprisonment, and a reduction to Airman Basic, I was tossed out into the cruel world of pre-911. More fight-flight/freeze conditioning. Although the brig does have convicts who sort of have a sense of discipline, you don’t want to rock the boat. And let me tell you, there is no worse torture than seeing and smelling the on-base McDonald’s from your tiny, barred, and screened window. (It was San Diego). No, there was no way to shut the window.
So, in 1999, with my military career a complete waste, being told I’m color-blind and as a result, was unable to program computers, I settled for customer support. I was quickly able to find a job working for a small software company that used WordPerfect and DOS to power its transcription platform. I read the classified advertisement in the paper, and said, “Yes, I can do all of that!” Two weeks later, I was hired, making an amazing $30K a year as an entry level software support technician. I did that for eight years, was pretty good at my job. Even wrote two custom utilities that assisted the other techs with resolving problems. Yeah, I thought I couldn’t program a computer? I learned Visual Basic .NET, how to utilize XML, and later SQL, all by myself, bitches!
The year 2007 was a crappy year. On Halloween, I found myself laid off. It was a Friday. Noon. And I had just powered up my car, only for it to die two feet out of the parking space. Out of gas. There are few things more humiliating than having to push your dead car back into the parking spot you’re being evicted from, walk two businesses down, buy a gas can, two gallons of gasoline at like $4 a gallon, walk back load the fuel in the gas tank, then drive off, never to be heard or seen from again. And knowing that the paycheck in your hand was the last you’ll see for a while. The Great Recession hadn’t happened just yet.
And that would effectively end my software career. Sure, I tried to start a couple of businesses from 2008 through 2011. A consultation company, a computer repair business, even my new dream, an anime retail store. All failures. I drifted into being a courier for a friend as he started a courier business with his brother. The day before I was to begin my new role as Vice President— after four months of doing every damn thing in the company from creating the invoice forms, designing the website, customer service, and delivering the products, the two brothers who owned the company, had an argument and dissolved the business.
I finally landed a job that began my new career. As a warehouse flunky, earning a whopping $18K a year! My job was grabbing automotive parts off of dirty warehouse shelves, working ten-hour days, five days a week, and another six hours on Saturdays. I was trying to maintain a family, a household, and go to college, yet again for the second time all while holding down this over-burdensome job. I learned a powerful lesson about diligence, as I found myself back in prison because I was too stupid to review the anime I thought I was downloading.
It was during this eight year enslavement where I learned to perfect my creative writing journey. I had ample time, I had friends to bounce ideas with. I got to engage my imagination. I had produced some genuine masterpieces (at least by the opinion of my captive audience). I learned more about myself during this time period than in any other era of my life. As it turns out, because of this setback, I was actually about ten years ahead of Society in terms of doing the Shadow Work, to resolve the internal trauma and programmed behavior issues that we all are in the process of currently deconstructing.
For the past five years, I’ve been earnestly working as a dedicated employee. I’ve realized within the past year that I’m literally at the top of my game right now. There is no room for upward movement for somebody like me. I realize that I’m not only replaceable, but easily exploited. All I am is a cog in the Capitalist machine the Oligarchy manufactured. I’ve been stripped of my Humanity. I say that because up until this point, truly other people don’t really care about me, nor what I am doing. People judge based on reputation, the past, and then just stop taking notes. I’ve struggled with finding my dreams again. And just when I think I may have found something to latch onto, something that gives me the tiniest bit of hope, that too is smashed by a cruel reality. The fact is, that I am nothing and nobody. I’m drowning in just trying to survive.
I’ve attempted to start three businesses in the past. All failed. I’ve attempted to get hired with other companies, currently ghosted, failing. And I look at what skills I do actually have. I can cook a mediocre meal. I can write a half-baked story, and if I’m being honest with myself, recently my writings have felt flat. Sure, I’m pretty good at office administration tasks— completing paperwork. I feel I’m decent at problem solving, at least for customers computer problems, and that’s despite not being in the industry in nearly 20 years. I even have a the polite tone to greet customers on the phone, although, I do think I look rather hideous. That’s probably why I’m not a Front Desk Receptionist. And, I don’t get called on to answer the phones either, because my voice isn’t lofty and sweet, not like a cis-woman in her 20s just starting out in her career.
I am in fact burnt out, and spiraling downward into depression. I recognize this. But I can’t seem to do anything about it. Because I’m probably just too stupid to figure out a solution. I need time. Time to heal. Time to recover my energy, but that is currently impossible with the onslaught of horrors occurring daily. All I can do is cry, and scream into the void of my pillow.
I want to start my own business again. I would love to combine the skills I’m attempting to learn, Unreal Engine, Digital Animation, 3D Character Design, story building, world generation, etc. to build my own anime studio. I could create wonderful stories and interesting characters, and people would be entertained by humorous tropes and wacky chaos. I could work on a publishing company for my partner, and maybe help her out of her disabilities. And I could use my creative writing talents to breathe life into her product(s). But I lack the energy and the clarity of thought to proceed. And that translates into stupidity. Because I know I need rest. A long rest, where I don’t have to work to just survive. I can heal my tortured body, my frazzled mind, and my fried nervous system. I also know that it’s not available.
So the only options I have to choose from are: Continue working and slaving daily, or die via starvation and homelessness. I shudder to even give a thought about being incarcerated yet again (because homelessness is, indeed, a crime). Fuck that. I don’t want to be yet another stupid statistic. Even though, I already am one. I’m totally screwed, and I’m too stupid to figure out how to even ask for the help I need… assuming there is any help available in the first place. And I’m probably just too stupid for believing my reality. Pardon me, while I go cry in a corner again.
Please don’t talk down to yourself. You are smarter and more skilled than you know.