More Confused Than Ever

doom

I have decided almost to go back and continue my studies. Work in the age care industry hasn’t always been what I’ve wanted it to be. In fact, it is not the kind of field I really want to go into. Not only is the work physically strenuous, but you have to be involved with urine and faeces on a daily basis, something which I find rather disturbing and difficult.

Anyway. The plan is either to go into childcare, and get a Bachelor of Early Childhood Education and Care, or to go back and do my HSC again, including English units of study, Business studies, and so on and so forth (it is the equivalent of Year 12, or the last year of highschool, in Australia). There is pressure, pressing on me on all sides, and I don’t know if I can truly complete my studies, especially since I haven’t entered into them for quite some time.

Right now, I’m holding onto hopes of getting published. It may seem like a pipe-dream to some, but writing, for me, is my life, and I can’t simply just let it go, just like that. It is everything to me. Whether I was aware of it or not, I have been trying, over the years, to get myself to a point where I was able to live off my writing, ever since I was five years and opened a book and then picked up a pencil. Writing, to me, is everything. There is nothing beyond it, and nothing behind it; all that exists for me, is an endless avenue of writing, going into the distance. I wish I could completely enunciate how much it means to me.

But what if you don’t have enough talent? What if you don’t have the ability to write well, to fully create your worlds and characters? What if, everyday, the threat of homelessness looms, and you feel as though something very tight, but small, is tightening around your neck? I think I fulfil the requirements of a starving artist. I have no income, I am hopping from career to career, trying to find the right job, and having no success, and now, after all this time, I am considering going back to school. It is rather laughable. And not to mention the fact that I can’t even begin to describe how I feel right now, quitting age care after so many ups and downs in my life. Some of you may not know this, but I became very depressed and sick, for the last three or so years; basically, depression, and a brief psychotic episode, took three years of my life from me, preventing me from studying or working. That is a pretty long period of time, and I only wish I could take it back, and start again. Too bad.

I am a different person to when I was in highschool. In highschool, I was stiff, anxious, and easily hurt; people knew me as the quiet one. Why? Because of some incidents during my childhood with my father. He was abusive, and because of that, I was scared of everyone, and everything. It didn’t matter whether I was good at this, or that; either way, I was the child who was worthless. What was more, and this is something I haven’t told anyone yet, I was sexually harassed by this man who was a close family member. All in all, I suffered quite the blow.

Enough. I have written enough about me. Thank you, if you have read so far, for being interested in my little life. It means the world to me. Through my blog, I have friends, people who understand me, who care about me. People who read, and listen. People who empathise, sympathise. It makes me feel good. It really does.

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