I write better in turmoil, it’s as if the storm inside me comes pouring out and breaking everything around it through the keys of my keyboard. Each tap on the squared letters is a loud thud, captured fast, with direction, with no time to go back and regret words, sentences, thoughts and feelings so honestly laid out. In my struggle there is sincerity, sentiments I often do not get a chance to feel until trouble comes crashing down.
And if I may be honest, I’m fucking tired. I’m tired of law school, of the stress, of this economy that is crumbling down below us. I’m tired of debt, tired of sacrificing being far away from all those I love to achieve the “American Dream” that is nonexistent for my generation. I’m tired of hearing the words “everything will work out” from privileged people my age who have never struggled with making ends meet, being completely self sufficient and trying to build a comfortable life in a foreign country that never quite feels like their own.
Don’t tell me it will be ok, when you have no idea what it feels like to be me right now. Don’t tell me everything will work out just because it always does for you. Just sit with me and be miserable, sit with me and tell me it’s not all my fault and that life is just shitty sometimes, even if it this has never been the case for you.
And if you can’t, then don’t speak, and don’t stare at me as you would at a stray dog; full of pity and concern.
“Someone feeling wronged is like someone feeling thirsty. Don’t tell them they aren’t. Sit with them and have a drink.”
– Mike Mitchell