Despair

Today I did not rise. The bed was too soft and the air too heavy and stale for me to resist. So I succumbed to exhaustion and stayed in bed.

Today I should have found and applied to five jobs – it was Sunday and I’ve been having more good feedback recently in my quest to become a real adult – a real person – recently. The sun went in one of my windows and out the other and the day lapsed; yet still I did not rise. I loafed.

There was a stash of chocolates in my bag – remnants from a birthday party – and I consumed it rather than move.

I did nothing.

I lay curled in bed, occasionally hitting play on another youtube video. That was only occasionally.

Accompanying me all day, crouched on my chest like some creature from Fuseli, was Despair.

Most days, I don’t feel him. Most days I fill my life with laughter – with friends – with music – with life. Today, however, I could not pull him from my skin. Instead, I pulled the blankets around me, hoping to shut him out, but he only burrowed deeper.

Today it was not enough to reiterate that I am qualified to be a librarian or an archivist, it was not enough to tell myself that I am experienced, that I have the skills, that I can do the work if given the opportunity. Because on days when Despair visits, I cannot hear my own words. I cannot hear my own voice.

What I hear is my failures: my rejections, my passups, my phone silent, my hopes tinkling into pieces.

You have a useless degree.

I don’t have a useless degree. I can organize an office, a record keeping system, an online database, a closet full of supplies, a spreadsheet of data. I can pull off an effective, accurate Google search in under 30 seconds, know which database to use, evaluate sources, critically analyze prose and layouts. I can help you get what you want – what you need – even if no one’s ever heard of it before, even if my department doesn’t support it. I will not leave you without an answer.

But today, with despair looming over me, breathing the musty smell of his stale breath at my neck, all I can hear is his voice: You will never be important to anyone.

That is the hardest idea to fight, even though it is the most ludicrous. I have friends, I have family, I have the friends I’ve taken in as family. I have co-workers and fairy-god sisters. I have fake brothers and old roommates. I have new roommates. I am not alone, I am not without love. I joke, I smile, I sing to them, fold them star shaped boxes on their birthdays, and tell them they are beautiful. But today, the only one with my was Despair.

Today is just one day. The sun has set and will rise again tomorrow. With it, I will have another chance at changing my state – at rising from that bed and seeking my chances. It seems almost impossible, right now, that someday I will have what I want: a job. I will matter to people in ways I will never understand.

I hauled myself out of bed and to the bathroom at around 8pm. I soaked beneath the spay of hot water and soaped away Despair’s dank words. It took scrubbing. Despair cakes his words thick on my skin. It was a better part of an hour before I raw and clean.

When I went back to my room, he had left. All that remained were crumpled sheets and bits of chocolate.