#IT'S LITERALLY AN UGLY POWERPOINT WITH A SHITTY STORY? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cazzylimerence · 7 years

Photo

LONG PERSONAL POST

(I’d like it if someone read this at some point ever . . . Be nice to know there’s another planet out there in this vast, black galaxy of mine)

. . .

I don’t like posting personal stuff on here. But I legitimately don’t feel like I’ve got anybody else to talk to.

First off, I am depressed. Intensely depressed. Like, Picasso’s Blue Period depressed. And I don’t know if it’s hormones, brain chemistry, or my living situation – which, on the outside doesn’t appear to be that bad, but to me, is in fact DEEPLY unsatisfying.

Here’s the deets, for any of you reading (and/or giving a shit):

I moved this year to a new city, got myself a new job – the same as before. Working in advertising as a motion graphic designer. It was my hope to find more engaging work for hirer pay. Instead, I think I got swindled on the pay, and the work is absolutely soul-crushing. It’s the type of work that kills my artistic drive and makes me feel like I’m wasting my life. We’re talking “utterly pointless, throwing eight hours (ten if you count fucking traffic) into a trash-can every fucking day” bad. I mean it’s boring, repetitive, and annoying.

What do I DO at work you ask? Well, basically, I build shitty low-quality TV commercials all day. And not the glamorous type, either. The “Sal’s auto parts”, “Vicky’s Salon, “ Pete’s Pizza” type of commercials (SSDD) – and the clients are awful. They want shitty powerpoint presentations with grainy photos of fucking dogs instead of actual, engaging, colorful designs that draw attention. And I, with my BA in Visual Communications, my Masters in Computer Animation, and my 5 1/2 fucking years of Agency Experience (where I actually worked with not-for-profit clients and felt like I was contributing to something) have to produce these POS commercials the way these awful clients want them produce. I.E. badly. So, like, too much text on the end screen, terrible photos, ugly color scheme, lame cross dissolves, etc, etc.

Sometimes I can ignore how bad this makes me feel. How useless and wasted it means I am. I mean, I grew up wanting to be an animator for Walt Disney for fucks sake. I grew up wanting to tell stories! Now look at me! Churning out cookie-cutter :15s-:30s TV spots for a company that has no idea how to operate coherently.

Sometimes I distract myself with music, or TV shows, or books, or audiobooks, or films. Other times I try obsessing over an actor, or writing my crummy little fan fictions that I feel like nobody reads or comments on anymore.

But it’s always the same. In the end, I ALWAYS go back to feeling depressed.

And what’s worse, my husband – (disclaimer: I love the guy a ton) – is just as bad. As in, he’s just as depressed. Maybe even worse than I am. In fact, it’s gotten so bad lately that I’ve started actively worrying about suicide risk with him.

So I can’t be the unhappy one in the marriage because he already is, and ONE of us as to be the rock, don’t they? And yes, that’s an awful, scummy, selfish way of looking at it. But that’s how I feel. I don’t resent him, not really. I just feel like I’m not allowed to be sad because, well, he’s got it worse – plus, he’s an immigrant, and he literally has no one to talk to (well, unless he wants to Skype, but the time difference is so severe he’s never really able to).

To recap: I’m depressed, and I can’t talk to my husband about it. And I can’t talk to my mom, either because she has a heart condition and I don’t want to stress her out. I can’t talk to my dad because he’s turning 60 and he just wants to fucking retire and be done with the “grunt work / labor ant / rat race” routine that he’s had to put up with for his whole insignificant little working-class life. I can’t talk to my sister because she’s an artist in Boston, has a brilliant soul-invigorating job and just started a new relationship with a nice, financially stable guy (or so I’m told). I can’t talk to my brothers because they’re in a band and they only ever text me to help them with logo work for their album covers. And I can’t talk to my friends because I left them in another fucking city – and oh yeah, I’M SOCIALLY AWKWARD AS FUCK. I can’t really ever start a conversation, let alone THIS conversation, with them and when I think about trying to I remind myself how long it’s been and just wind up guilting myself into silence again.

So yeah. Part of me thinks this is not a big deal. Like, it’s not so bad. I’m happy some of the time. And other folks have it worse.

But MAN ALIVE, when I’m NOT HAPPY? Like, HOLY FUCK. It’s AWFUL. Because I still have to function.

I still have to go to my shit job and provide for my sad husband. And I have to fake a smile through all of it.

And when I go to do something meaningful, something I enjoy, or used to enjoy, like writing, or painting, I have no drive left. I just feel like - what’s the point? No one reads my stories, and no one will want to. Paint something? Well that just takes too much effort (I mean I gotta set the paints out and the canvas and set everything up, ugh fuck that).

What’s that you say? Join a gym? Drink water? Eat healthy? Take vitamins?

Well, I do drink water, and take vitamins. And I do try to eat healthy, as best I can given my budget. As for joining a gym, that takes time and more importantly energy - energy I just don’t seem to have anymore. And yes, I know I have to expend energy to make energy. But honestly? I already cover the few small hours I’m not in the fucking office like a dragon hoarding it’s treasure. I don’t want to give up the only free time I have to go to a place that smells of sweat and awkwardness only to have odd men gawk at my lack of decent gym clothes – or self esteem.

And yes, I could jog around the block but my neighborhood is sketch central in the summer and an ice berg in the winter and again, time and energy.

Also, I’m going to be 30 next year. And 10 years after that, I’ll be 40 –

–which, as you all know, is the cut-off-date for attractiveness and purpose in a woman. I mean, at 40 you don’t look good and you can’t have kids, right? So why try anything after that? (I’m being sarcastic here, in case you didn’t realize . . .)

I’ve tried looking for other jobs, but there’s really no other jobs around here that appeal in a ‘won’t also crush my soul’ kind of way, and I don’t know how to cross the gasp from advertising into another field. I do know this, however –

I don’t want to be where I am. I don’t want to be in advertising anymore. I don’t want to feel empty and pointless.

I WANT TO WRITE.

I WANT TO ACT. I’d love to voice-act, but I can’t come up with my own project (see above for reasons why).

I WANT TO COLLABORATE WITH SOMEONE. I want to find that creative partner who sparks a fire me, and who I spark a fire in too. I want someone to talk to about crazy creative project ideas at 1am, someone to try stuff with, someone to motivate me and inspire me. A muse to surpass all muses.

But most importantly I WANT TO CREATE AGAIN AND FEEL HAPPY, LIKE I’M CONTRIBUTING SOMETHING to SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE!!!!!

But instead . . . I am alone. Utterly alone. (At least, that’s how I feel right now, anyway.)

Here’s hoping this transmission reaches someone. And if it does, here’s hoping that someone wants to talk, too. I could use a friend.

#personal #personal shit #depression #sad #sadness #emotion #emptiness

3 notes · View notes