Salutations all, I hope that you’re doing well, this will be a slight divot from the previous writing as this is a little more personal than what I’m comfortable sharing on this particular platform, that said, I feel this is something that needs to be discussed without embarrassment and fear of judgment, a lot of us are struggling with the job market and honestly, I’m not doing great, at all, I’m hurting, and I wanted to talk about why, it took a lot of courage to talk about this and I hope that this resonates with someone like I hope that it will because it’s been a very painful reality to live in and it has deeply affected my mental health in a way I have never experienced before, and I’ve suffered with my mental health for many years, I wrote this on Independence Day and I am still unfortunately unemployed.

I left a job that was hurting my mental health and affecting my physical health in more ways than you can imagine, I’m so glad that I chose myself despite the fact I had to work so hard and do so much to get that position, sometimes you are meant to be a customer and not a worker, I sound like an asshole but spaces that only value you in the fact you’re slaving away, never having the mental space to breathe because you have to always have to be on because you’re in customer service

That said, I didn’t think that on October 31st, 2023, I would still be unemployed as of July 4th, 2024, happy fucking Independence Day.

I’m a writer, in some way, shape, or form, this is all I have known aside from photography, and film, that is my trio, it is my heart and soul, and it’s incorrect for me to want to be paid for the skills I have had since the tender age of five, I’m nearing my 30s, and having worked shitty retail job after shitty retail job, abysmal stints at restaurants, you’d think that being rejected wouldn’t bother me all that much, but after around 300+ rejections from spaces I am more than capable of working in, I broke down. I couldn’t handle it. I just screamed, there was a rage that just built up inside of me that I couldn’t control. I wasn’t scared of myself, but maybe I should have been, I was furious and in pain, and frankly, fucking fed up with it all. I had to take a beat or I was going to blow up at people who didn’t deserve it and say things. I didn’t mean I was pissed, but at least I’m self-aware. Part of me wants to believe that it is for the best, but why does it feel anything but? I never thought that the speed of constant rejection from postions that I absolutely know how to do would actually brandish such a large wound. Guess I’m not quite as bulletproof as I thought, ha. Go figure.

Then the opposite that I didn’t expect came, I wished I could say I didn’t cry, but I did, so uncontrollably that I felt that I couldn’t breathe, and you think, Ah, how dramatic is this chick? Just keep searching, right? Sure, I could, but after the number of rejections in retail, art, photography, film, screenwriting, fashion, and other varying industries that I have worked in I thought fuck it, I’m done. I no longer want to do this, to work a normal job because I’m fucking sick of the beat down I’ve received since working and trying to find a job, it used to take two weeks for me to sign a contract not eight months.

I can’t do traditional work anymore; I have tried but I just can’t and I won’t.

That’s all from me, let me know if you can support and please share with your friends and those who you know that appreciate life writing.