Getting Back Into It

Over a year has passed since I have graduated with a Master’s of Arts in English Literature. This is all fine and well.  I’m proud of this accomplishment.  There were many times I was certain I wouldn’t make it through the stress of completing such an extensive research project- Let alone being satisfied with the finished product.  And I was satisfied for the most part.  I loved that I was writing about the complications of gender in young adult literature.  I loved that I got to read the Hunger Games Trilogy nearly 3 times over in the name of scholarly research.

But after I was through with hours and hours of editing and the panic-inducing committee meetings; after I finally submitted 90 pages of my scholarly bitching… I stopped.  I stopped writing. I was burned out. If I thought about writing something serious I would feel my creativity start to curl up in a ball and throw itself in the back of my closet.

No one wanted to hear what I wanted to say.  No one cares that Katniss could be queer but probably isn’t because just because she isn’t traditionally female doesn’t mean she’s gay.  No one cares that I think she’s a great role model for children of all genders. No one cares that you hate your job, Ellen.  Everyone hates their job.  No one wants to hear you bitch about the street harassment you experience or how mad that one song makes you because it reinforces the “gender binary.”  Just shut up and do your job.  Maybe read a book to make yourself feel better.  Maybe that will help you feel smarter.

Um hello? Could I be any more self-destructive here? I mean, it’s getting to the point where I am putting my relationship in jeopardy. My disappointment in myself is putting stress on my boyfriend to help me feel better about myself and that shouldn’t be his responsibility. I mean, I appreciate a boost every now and again, but I should be able to determine my own worth without being coddled.  That’s why I was afraid to date again in the first place.  I molded myself into this strong, independent woman.  I did not want to disappear inside another person.

I will not resort to helplessness because I am a little lost right now.  I didn’t want to write that down. I didn’t want to write that down.  I really didn’t want to admit feeling lost because everyone says that. It’s a cop-out.  It’s putting a more attractive label on settling for less then you’re capable of achieving.  Everyone says “you have to find yourself.”  “You are so young, you have time.”  Time for what, though? Time to make a whole new stupid map to follow?Because the one I am currently following is either outdated or in some language I can’t manage to learn. I do have a terrible sense of direction, so maybe that’s an issue I have across the board.

 

Either way. I guess I need to buy a new compass.