Sometimes I just feel that I have wasted all my life. All those years I’ve worked my ass off, just went straight down the sink in one moment. One moment that I thought would change my life. And it did some way. Just not exactly the way I’ve imagined.
They say you mature with your scars. That you need to suffer in order to grow.
I’ve spent the last two and a half year trying to figure out what to do with my life. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t nearly perfect before, but it didn’t feel so fucked up like it feels now. I had a job that didn’t pay me enough to die but at least I loved it. And damn, I was good at it. I knew I had no chance to advance there or make a living out of it. I knew I had to change to move on with my life, but it still hurts. Seeing someone else doing what I did. Seeing someone else loving the job once I loved. It’s still killing me.
Now I have a great job which looks pretty impressive in my resumé and finally, I’m making decent money which allows me to finally move into my own place. Well, not really my own, just a rent, but anyway, you get the point. And I met awesome people, some of them even became close friends. But still, I feel miserable.
Around me, everyone seems to get their life together. Moving in with boyfriends, moving into a new country, getting married, having kids. And me? I can’t even write a damn page of my cherished little book.
I feel like such a failure. I’m 32 and I literally have nothing. No boyfriend, no dream job, no apartment, no chunky bank account. No dreams to pursuit anymore. I’m not sure if I even exist anymore.
Everyone says to hold on, better days are coming. But honestly? I don’t think there is anything good left in store for me. Maybe I had my chances and I blew it. I’m still grieving the life I had. And this grief makes it impossible to love the life I’m living in. Even if I would like to.