Creeping

 

As an adult, I feel very lacking. Since I graduated high school, I have thrust myself into any situation I deemed uncomfortable. Anything I felt I wouldn't be able to take on alone--I went for. Because I knew that I could not be so finicky as an adult. I had to be independent, I had to learn to speak for myself, and I had to learn how to talk to others. But this has left me eons behind my peers. 

Every day I am surrounded by amazing people who are capable of amazing things, and while I know that comparison is a deadly kiss to the sea--one that kills the little fish and makes it unbearable to live within--it is impossible to avoid it. In the darkest crevasse of every path, it sits and it waits. It waits for you to take the smallest step towards the sea, and once you touch it, it'll snatch you up and never let go. It is such a nasty peck. One that taints the waters and burns your skin. It soaks through your socks and shoes, your feet run cold, and you shiver your teeth together until they shatter and you begin to sink. 

It is dangerous, but honestly, how could I not compare?

I only speak one language. I am not very smart in any regard. I don't have any hobbies, or talents, or weird skills that aren't that interesting--but at least impressive. I don't like or care to do much--and not because I genuinely don't want to, but because I can't. If hobbies and skills don't cost money, they take their canines and rip through time. I don't have enough of either to lick and savor, let alone give my tongue and teeth to things I'm not sure I'd be good at. I've tried it before. Tried to learn Spanish. Spent seven years--from middle school to my freshman year of college--trying both at home and in school. But I can't say a thing. I can't even understand a little bit. I could only ever study, not immerse myself in the language. I couldn't. I had no spanish speaking peers. It was impossible to converse, and using the internet as a solution is not as easy as it seems--again, things take time. And I don't and never had that.

I've also tried to learn Korean. I could only learn how to read and write. As much as I tried and cried, that passion ultimately died. I never progressed, so I gave up. The cycle continues with guitar, sketching, something as simple as coloring, and writing.

The writing bit sucks because I love it. The one thing I enjoy is yet another thing I'm not good at. 

If not blessed with cerebral beauty, could I have at least gotten it physically? I wouldn't mind being so bland if I were bland and beautiful. Bland and glam. But I'm not. I'm actually a bit of a sad case. A Jack and Jill--or Rose and Jack. Save the romance trope, I am doomed. My misfortunes are... well, quite tragic, and sad, but inevitable. I was never supposed to be pretty. Never. But could I have at least been intelligent? Talented? Rich? To me, it seems unfair. I am an odd person with an even more obscure look. And not obscure in the good, high fashion, editorial model way. In the Could a human do such wrongful deeds in their past life, the only damnation they deserve is a filthy visage and scattered brain? way.

I just wish that, by the world, I'd been given a chance. A chance to be someone or something. And I know what you're thinking. It's what everyone says without knowing the small, imprudent details of my life. I do not have time. I am not young enough to get it together. I feel lost and trapped in a cavern of incompetence and despair; laze and self-doubt. It's unhealthy... and I know that it must stop. 

And that's why on my twenty first birthday, I up and left home. It wasn't the first time. After I graduated high school, a few weeks shy pf my eighteenth birthday, I had gone across the country for college. I needed independence. To learn to navigate the world on my own--as we had struggle much growing up, so I never learned it from my mother. I depended on her with my life, because through the guilt of not being able to offer much growing up, she never forced me to do things on my own, I think. The important things. She would advise it, but ultimately give in. I had to leave. To begin a life of my own. Because I was officially an adult, like my mother. I can't learn how to avoid the grievances and transgressions that she did by depending on her. It's like trying to use water itself to pull yourself above the waves. 

After I'd done what I needed to do--lived on my own in an apartment, brought in another life (my cat); nurtured and cherished it, and learned how to do things without my mother close enough to rely on, I transferred back home. But only five months later, I wanted out. Again. I find that this is my physical mantra. The alliteration of my movement. It's my cycle. I keep running away, promising not to return... but ultimately, life is a lot harder on my own than I ever led myself to believe. So once the summer was over, I was home again.