A last cry for help
Attention friends, followers, people who may reblog this, nerdfighters, etc.
I might not have a home soon.
This is one last plea: we need help. My family and I are in desperate need. I can’t just pretend we aren’t anymore. If you ever wondered what I’m depressed about sometimes on here, this is it.
ATTENTION TO ANYONE WHO LIVES IN THE STOCKTON, CA AREA: If you or anyone you know knows somewhere that will hire my parents, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. ONLINE JOBS WOULD BE WONDERFUL AS WELL. FYI, we don’t have a working car though, so it has to be online or in the city.
If a friend of a friend owns a business, or if someone you know is the manager somewhere, ANYTHING. My parents have both been unemployed for a while now, applying desperately anywhere they can with no luck. Neither qualify for unemployment benefits any more. The only income we have comes from my mom’s substitute jobs, which are unsteady and often don’t cover the bills. We are a month behind on rent right now— soon to be two months— and we only have water right now because of a friend gracious enough to help us pay it yesterday.
If my parents don’t get full time work in the next 2-3 weeks at most, then we are likely to get an eviction notice in January. That means I would not have a home and would likely have to go to my grandmother’s in another city and won’t graduate with my friends. Please, let me know if you anyone who can hire my parents. Ask around! Ask your parents, have your parents ask their friends… We are truly desperate. I’m more scared than I’ve ever been and it kills me to see my parents struggling so much and crying and feeling like they are failing. I don’t know what to do anymore.
My ask and submit are both open, so feel free to send me a message if you have any leads.
Holly (aka rejectnormal)
We can do better than this.
I. I can do so much better than this.
This morning, 27 years old, I drank the coffee I’d left on the kitchen table the night before. I carried my bike down the stairs and surveyed the driveway for black ice. Even at 10 am, it was too cold for pedestrians. The streets were empty, and the cold burned my eyes at stop signs. I pedaled through town to the canyon path and climbed. It was time to acknowledge my fears.
I am afraid of failure. I am not terribly unique.
I am afraid of failure, of looking stupid, foolish, and desperate. I am afraid of people knowing that I am. I am clawing at the walls, falling to my knees, slamming my fists on the floor demanding more out of life. And I fell prey to the belief that this sort of desperation was unattractive. I swam in the pool of laissez-faire, thinking that not giving a fuck made someone fuckable, loveable. But I am beginning to believe that is wrong. I am beginning to believe that desperation is the burning, the furrowed brow. It is the speakers at full blast and the rain soaking through your clothes. I am tired of not showing my desperation because I am tired of pills that slow my heart rate, of conversations that glaze over issues, of polite laughs and don’t worry it’s cool, ‘cause it’s not cool – it’s bullshit and I am learning to say so without the disclaimer, without the “cool girl” cover.
I am afraid of failure, but I am redefining it. Failure is not rejection. Failure is not unrequited love. Failure is not second, third, or last place. Failure is silence. I made a misguided promise to myself when I was 22 that if I didn’t “make it” by the time I turned 25, I would stop trying. I wanted my failure to fit in a box of my own deciding, tucked away on the shelf of things I could say I never really wanted anyway.
I want to burn that shelf. I want to shred it into slivers and swallow them into nothing.
I used to think that 27 sounded old, but the older I get, the younger I feel. We are crushed by our own inadequacies, by headlines like “30 Under 30.” There are 30 fucking people on that list and millions of people in that age demographic – am I really supposed to be upset I’m not on it? Am I really supposed to read that article on my iPad in my one bedroom apartment, well fed and well dressed and think I’m a failure? Fuck you.
I got better this year. I got better at communicating, cycling, climbing, and all sorts of other ‘c’ words, but I limited myself by believing that opportunity came with youth. Youth is a spotlight on success, but you poison yourself believing that you need to have your named carved in stone by the age of 23 to reach glory. That’s not glory, that’s a tombstone.
Look in the mirror and feel lost. Feel useless and confused and without direction. But feel it deeply. Ask how you got here so many times that the only answer you have left is you. Feel this desolation to the point of desperation and get better. I don’t care if New Years resolutions are corny. I’m corny. I am ensemble-romantic-comedy corny. I’m a dreamer, a star-gazing, love-declaring desperado. I’m a bad Jennifer Lopez movie, a Demi Lovato pop song, champagne in the park, and a proposal on the ballgame big screen. I am a hip switching, heel clicking, hair flipping movie montage and I am tired of acting like that’s a bad thing. I am foolish and foolhardy, stupid and proud, cinematic and desperate to live the life I envisioned for myself. And I’m going to get exactly what I want because of it.
Yeah, there are rules of etiquette we’re gonna follow. There are tried and true pieces of advice we should all listen to, but what star of history ever said placate your fire, squelch your dreams? What adventurer, what explorer, what dreammaker ever said “23 is past your prime.” We’re so drugged up, we’re so in line, we’re so yes sir yes ma’am, and we fade to the pale gray of the background assuming that if success does not come young, it does not come at all. You want a happier life? You want a colored sky? You want a real New Years Resolution?
Get better at shit. And be desperate to do so. Because life is a long, long time to complain about being past your prime.
Standing outside in the front yard, Sumiko looked up at the darkening sky. It was mid-summer and the days were seeming to drag on and on. The fresh scent of flowers filled the air and it was surprisingly comfortable outside, just right for the time of year.
Her fingers slid down the top of her stomach as she thought about what had been going on the past few month. A gentle smile placed on her lips as she thought about it, she was fairly happy when the turn of events but she was really worried more recently with Kakashi always being gone.
The sound of footsteps filled her ears and she turned around hoping to see her beloved coming home but for some reason she doubted that. Lately his presences had been lacking and when he was home, he was tired and grumpy hardly ever spending time with her, which made her worry more than she should.