Things aren’t great at the moment. I’m hearing and seeing things again, and having more frequent panics. I have just landed a job that is a long-awaited relief money-wise, it gets me by, but I’m about four weeks in and it seems to be just as bad as every other horrible public sector job there is, where the customers can pick at you and the managers don’t care, and you generally feel a bit pointless and stamped on. Anyway, it’s not making life as easy as I’d hoped.
I am finding it hard to eat properly, or enough, because the thought of any food makes me feel ill, so I am instead randomly and miserably bingeing on whatever offends me least each time I can’t bear my stomach pains anymore. I’m just not enjoying the simple things that I used to. I don’t know when it started. And I’m worried that I’m going to have to live with this coming and going for the rest of my life.
I started a game with a friend at work the other day; a scoring system for making the best cup of tea. There were four sections, each marked out of ten, and each score range was assigned a name reflecting the overall success of said tea. It was trivial and fun, but it developed into scoring people out of ten, and after dryly remarking that the tea ‘makes me love you more and more every day’, I wondered what happens when you hit 10 with a person. Is that it? Do they stay there forever? No, they don’t. If you make a 10/10 cup of tea, and then never make any more, you remain a top cuppa maker. But if you make any less-than-perfect after that, you go down again. You only have the possibility to go back down.
I’m worried, unhappy, exhausted. Is this all there is? I feel like I’m still awaiting a calling in life, for something to tell me what I’m good at. I still can’t just settle into myself and know what it is that I am about, what I bring to the table (other than tea), what I offer the world. Because ultimately, I think everyone has to serve themselves, and people go about life in a way that’s acceptable for others and rewarding for themselves. I think what makes me feel happy is making people laugh, or smile. Or impressing them. A young wish to be noticed and wanted. I could say very easily that I’m not beautiful, I’m odd-looking and that’s because I’m funny, and that’s ok, but I don’t even know that for sure. I could say I’m clever, but that idea disappeared when I moved to secondary school and I wasn’t different anymore. I’d like to think that I am not a tortured-artist soul who will get noticed after she dies. Please.
A couple of regular customers noticed that I was new yesterday, and made a point of saying hello. I was overwhelmingly touched.