Misadventures of a Misfit

“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”   –Jack London

I am walking a fine line between keeping my shit together, and hitting my breaking point. Literally the first week after my return was a series of bad news: health stuff, car stuff, work stuff, personal stuff – everything. There have been a few points that I’ve just crawled into bed, willing to accept defeat and not deal with the outside world anymore. My health is a giant mess, and probably the biggest problem since I’ve returned from Orlando. I pushed off a lot of appointments, tests, procedures, etc until after my vacation, so I wouldn’t be sore and so I wouldn’t be stressed about results of anything. But the day after I came back, I saw the nephrologist for my kidneys, because they’re being damaged, and it’s only gotten worse from there. But I will do a proper post on that junk separately once I know a little bit more about what’s going on. Yet, despite everything, I am trying to continue forward. Writing and drawing and working on my photography, like I should be. I won’t pretend, though, that there haven’t been days I’ve doubted myself, and thought that maybe it is time to grow up and be a responsible adult, go for something else in school, and get a real career instead of relying on all these dreams. But something about that changed on Friday, when my mom had mentioned to someone (that doesn’t know me) all of the things I do outside of my day job, and all of the accomplishments I had so early on. When the person asked me why I’m not actively pursuing my writing and everything, I shrugged and told them “I am, but I just work too much.”

And that has been eating at me. When did I really become that person?

My health and my dreams and my relationships all suffer because I work too much. At what point did a job I took to just make a little extra money become four years of my life and my main focus? Because this is not what I want to be doing the rest of my life. Not even close. Yet, here I am.

I can very easily compare it to the Jack London quote at the beginning of this post. I am rotting. I am becoming dust. I used to feel like I was becoming someone, and I let it all start slipping away. I’m ashamed of myself for it. I would much rather be ashes than dust. I would rather live than exist. And if my spark is to die out, I’d rather it be after a brilliant blaze than suffocated in rot.

Well, I’m 24, but still.

I’m not afraid of dying at this point. I’m afraid of just existing, instead of living. I’m afraid that my time will suddenly be up, and I won’t have anything to show for it. The travels help. The occasional little steps forward in writing and art and photography help. But I’m ready for really feeling like I’ve done something.

It’s time to dust myself off and keep going. Everything will be okay.

~Angel