How Did I End Up Here?

I interviewed for a job last week that I really, really wanted. And I would have been really good at it too. It fell into my lap, and I thought it was a perfect opportunity coming along at just the right time. I am tired of being broke. I am tired of chasing after clients to pay me for work I have completed months prior. I want a regular paycheque. I would like to have my teeth cleaned. I want to be able to do fun stuff and not have to count every last damn penny. I am ready to have security and stability and a sense of belonging and self-worth. I have some of that now, but not consistently. I am ready—after 2 years—to get on with the proverbial show.

I didn’t get the job. I am pissed. And frustrated, partly at myself and partly at the Universe.

What is it that I am meant to be doing??

I mean, fuck.

What I thought I wanted—a writing career—turned out not to be what I really wanted. The reality of my situation has caused a shift in my priorities. I am tired of worrying about money ALL THE DAMN TIME. I am also tired of depending upon others for my paycheque. I am tired of settling. I am tired of talking myself off the ledge.

I was ready. Or so I thought. I really believe that the Universe totally supports us in every thought we choose to think and believe…I believe that we are 100% responsible for our own experiences…I believe that we choose our thoughts and we choose our patterns. I believe that every thought we think is creating our future and I believe that when we really love ourselves, everything in our life works.

Sooo, based on results, it would appear I have some work to do.

So I’m mad. Because I created this situation. I am creating this pattern. I am participating in my desperate financial situation on some subconscious level. So how the hell do I get myself up and out?? I thought this job was the ticket, the starting gate, the step I needed to drag myself out of the gutter. There’s only so many times you can pick yourself up and dust yourself off. And when did I turn into such a victim? Blech!

I am also scared at what it all means. Not getting the job—and it’s not the first job I haven’t gotten—means that I am creating this situation. It means I am choosing to think and believe negative things about myself. It means I believe I’m not worthy of money. It means that I don’t really love myself.

I am also sick today for the first time in 2 years. Though I know this is NOT a popular way of thought, I also take a Louise Hay approach when it comes to sickness: I believe we create every “illness” in our body. I believe that sickness is a manifestation of what’s really going on in our lives. You may be able to hide from everybody else, but the body knows what’s really going on.

My sore throat tells me that I have an inability to speak up for myself; it represents swallowed anger, stifled creativity and a refusal to change.

Fuck. Dead on.

My sinus problems indicate an irritation to one person, someone close.

Ha! Too true.

And a cold in general signifies mental confusion and disorder.

Well!

Ok , ok, Body—message received. But while these realizations usually soothe and comfort me, all they have done is sent me reeling into panic and fear.

I am paralyzed by my fear lately. I am stuck. I think everything I do or say is shit. I haven’t been writing because I think my writing is shit. And so, if we head back up to paragraph 3, this means that I am creating my future with these thoughts…and because they are negative, the future I am creating for myself is one of a big pile of shit. I don’t know what to do and any solutions I do manage to come up with, I don’t want to execute. I want to sit on my couch and watch bad TV and feel sorry for myself.

And the vicious cycle continues.

How did I end up here? I am smart, well-educated, efficient, organized, fun, funny and have a myriad of other attributes that I am squandering. I am spinning my wheels. I know I’m spinning my wheels and I somehow have lost the tools I need to get myself on up and out.

Someone hand me a shovel.

So I’m writing because I haven’t been and because my inner critic is telling me that I have nothing to contribute to the world. I am writing because I need to do something or I will explode, I am writing because my sore throat tells me that I am not being honest and authentic with myself.

No apologies, no make-up on this post. It is raw. It is what it is and I am at where I’m at and I need to stop hiding it and pretending that everything is ok and that I’ve got it under control because it’s not and I don’t.