(no subject)
It's terrifying to finally admit it, but this life is not sustainable. It simply is not.
I spent my entire life working towards being a teacher. I fooled myself into believing that I would be good at it. Like it's possible to be good at something that consumes your entire life until nothing is left of you but an exhausted, broken shell.
The thing th\t tears me apart the most is the fact that no-one can know. I wonder how long I will go on like this, convincing myself and others around me that this kind of lifestyle is acceptable. Everytime the words attempt to come out of my mouth I realise that the look on their faces will make it not worth it; I would rather be this broken shell than be someone who failed.
I resist it. I resist it all until I bleed pity and anger and self-denial. I bleed hatred for what I have become, for my loss of life, for my loss of time for love and hugs. I wish it would all just go away; the weekend comes and it taunts me. From a pile of marking to lessons to plan, it never goes away. It is the ghost under the bed that will lurk for eternity, and it is something that I can never get away from.
I have no options. If I heard someone speaking like this I would be concerned for their welfare. But I will stop writing this, I will pick up my planner and I will move on. I will get it done. I will make everything okay. I will survive the next week, then the next month, and before I know it I will be stuck forever. I am already stuck forever.
My fingers hammer on this keyboard so quickly I feel they are going to drop off. I come here for the truth, for honesty... to be heard without being listened to. I don't understand it. I don't understand any of it. I cheer my mantra: work to live, don't live to work. As I sit holding my pink pen, wishing for a job that could stay a job, a workplace that would remain there - not seep into my home through every windwo and door, stripping me of my time and my freedom.
Freedom. I ache for freedom. I ache to be alone, to be away from the fear of what needs to be done. I ache to be alone with my husband, to be alone without the constant nagging of the pile of books that need to be marked.
I'm so behind I could cry. I wish it would all go away, yet all that happens is the pile gets bigger and I feel more ill and exhausted and miss out on more opportunities. And life. I miss out on life.
People are drifting away; I can't blame them. I have no time for them. I have no time for us - for me - let alone them. I ache to be without this nagging, this monster that lurks in my schoolbag and pokes fun at my sleep. I ache and bleed and wish it was all gone.
The pain is unimaginable. My stomach is constantly lurching and the need for freedom, the need to have space. Time. Freedom. It churns as I turn out these words, flowing from my fingertips on to this keyboard. Type type type on to the screen like all my fears will go away.
The nagging, and the monster, and that ache for freedom will flow out of my fingertips, on to the screen, and leave me alone.
They aren't going anywhere.
And I'm not going anywhere.
Freedom means nothing; Failure is everything.
I spent my entire life working towards being a teacher. I fooled myself into believing that I would be good at it. Like it's possible to be good at something that consumes your entire life until nothing is left of you but an exhausted, broken shell.
The thing th\t tears me apart the most is the fact that no-one can know. I wonder how long I will go on like this, convincing myself and others around me that this kind of lifestyle is acceptable. Everytime the words attempt to come out of my mouth I realise that the look on their faces will make it not worth it; I would rather be this broken shell than be someone who failed.
I resist it. I resist it all until I bleed pity and anger and self-denial. I bleed hatred for what I have become, for my loss of life, for my loss of time for love and hugs. I wish it would all just go away; the weekend comes and it taunts me. From a pile of marking to lessons to plan, it never goes away. It is the ghost under the bed that will lurk for eternity, and it is something that I can never get away from.
I have no options. If I heard someone speaking like this I would be concerned for their welfare. But I will stop writing this, I will pick up my planner and I will move on. I will get it done. I will make everything okay. I will survive the next week, then the next month, and before I know it I will be stuck forever. I am already stuck forever.
My fingers hammer on this keyboard so quickly I feel they are going to drop off. I come here for the truth, for honesty... to be heard without being listened to. I don't understand it. I don't understand any of it. I cheer my mantra: work to live, don't live to work. As I sit holding my pink pen, wishing for a job that could stay a job, a workplace that would remain there - not seep into my home through every windwo and door, stripping me of my time and my freedom.
Freedom. I ache for freedom. I ache to be alone, to be away from the fear of what needs to be done. I ache to be alone with my husband, to be alone without the constant nagging of the pile of books that need to be marked.
I'm so behind I could cry. I wish it would all go away, yet all that happens is the pile gets bigger and I feel more ill and exhausted and miss out on more opportunities. And life. I miss out on life.
People are drifting away; I can't blame them. I have no time for them. I have no time for us - for me - let alone them. I ache to be without this nagging, this monster that lurks in my schoolbag and pokes fun at my sleep. I ache and bleed and wish it was all gone.
The pain is unimaginable. My stomach is constantly lurching and the need for freedom, the need to have space. Time. Freedom. It churns as I turn out these words, flowing from my fingertips on to this keyboard. Type type type on to the screen like all my fears will go away.
The nagging, and the monster, and that ache for freedom will flow out of my fingertips, on to the screen, and leave me alone.
They aren't going anywhere.
And I'm not going anywhere.
Freedom means nothing; Failure is everything.