She told me I needed to get a job, go back to school, or pay rent. And it was implied - or else they would kick me out.
There was no calmer warning of this beforehand - it's always given as a threat. Nor am I given the clarity of a deadline. Imaginary deadlines, unfair expectations, and misunderstandings abound when it comes to my parents.
She sees me as being in the same place I was two years ago.
Well I'm not.
You would know that if you knew me.
You would know that if you listened to me.
Two years ago I had dreams of working on movies or games. I was applying for multiple jobs that I was always deemed unqualified for.
Six months and many job rejections later, I had fallen into deep depression. It took all I had just to have hope for anything anymore. To believe that I was worth anything. To not give up on life entirely.
I started looking less for the jobs I wanted, and more for just any job I could get. I've been rejected from them, too, and I don't even know why. Maybe I'm not qualified enough, maybe I'm overqualified. Who the hell knows.
I felt uninspired, depressed, and anxious. I was earning very little money. I did, however, manage to secure a professional freelance project. Through my own efforts. My first. It may not have made me rich, but it is undeniable that that was an accomplishment.
Six months later, as my depression deepened, I began going to therapy. For the first time in my life, I've had someone to talk to about the emotions that have overwhelmed me for so long, and I am being taught how to keep them under control. It is the first time I've felt respected in a long time. I am officially diagnosed with depression and chronic anxiety.
Slowly, but surely, my depression and anxiety lessen over time. Where I once felt stuck and hopeless, I started to entertain ideas of where else I could go with my life. I could go back to school. I could find other ways of working. I could move somewhere else. I have options that are worth considering.
After another six months, my mood is improving, and I landed a seasonal job. Although I had hoped I would be kept on staff past the holidays, I was not chosen to do so. I don't know why, but the temporary work did at least help me to feel like someone wanted me. I've started taking martial arts classes, which keep me moving and help me feel better. I've made a friend. I'm becoming more confident.
I lose my seasonal job, but I don't fall into depression like I have before. I keep looking. When I'm not looking for jobs, I'm working on expanding my business as an artist. I don't work full time, but I'm earning $20/hour and it's enough to pay my bills. I'm responsible about saving and don't blow my money on things I don't need.
I've since been working my way up in the art community and doing a better job of keeping myself happy. The last thing I need right now is a bunch of stress dumped in my lap because my mom doesn't think I'm "adult" enough for her liking. I don't know how to make her happy, because she's never satisfied with anything I do. I don't meet her expectations, ever.
I'd rather die than still be living here when I'm 30 - let alone 40 - but apparently because I've been here two years, that means I'll be here the rest of my life.
But because my mom goes out and hears stories about how so-and-so found a job super easily, or because whats-her-face has a 40-year-old daughter living at home, or how some people think it's super easy to afford a college degree, she comes home and throws all of those assumptions and baseless doubts in my face.
I don't care what you've heard. I don't care how things were when you were a kid. I'm my own person. It's a different world. Not everyone is the same. I'm trying my damndest to get the hell away from you, but you have never been able to see that. This is the last place on Earth I want to be.
So now what?