Well I’ve definitely got more to say today, which is kind of ironic, because it’s basically to say that I don’t personally aspire to things…
There are so, so many fucking terrible effects of having the kind of past that pocketcanadian and I, and so many other people, have. And this is one of the ones that I annoyingly ended up with. Though, out of all the crappy things, this is definitely one of the least crappy, and one I don’t notice until I start really thinking about it for whatever reason.
I can’t remember exactly when I first heard it, but I do remember hearing the phrase sense of a forshortened future, and thinking oh fuck, and feeling that heavy feeling in your gut when something clicks and suddenly makes sense, and is yet another crap reminder of how you can’t ever seem to escape this shit. Because it was something I never thought about, and didn’t even recognise in myself until hearing that crap phrase and how it was an after-effect of trauma.
Here’s a little summary of it’s input thus far:
- A general and massive sense of futility. Not hopelessness, not sad or anything, just a ‘why does it fucking matter’ futility. Why does finding a job that I want to do matter? Why does moving away from people that might be holding me back matter? Why does getting help matter? Why does any of this bullshit matter?
- Going through exams at school, GCSEs, A-Levels, and being asked a hundred times over what I wanted to do, and thinking ‘I don’t know…nothing. It doesn’t matter, I won’t reach that age. I won’t get to 17, so I don’t need to choose my A-Level subjects…I won’t get to 18 and need to apply to university’. It wasn’t a feeling of I’ll be dead by then (although I did used to frequently fantasize about something happening to me, becoming terminally ill, dying in some sort of accident), it was just an inexplicable, I won’t be here, I won’t reach that age.
I try not to think about it, the long-term future. I start to think about what I want to do, what I might be doing in 10 years time and my head just goes foggy, I give up exploring those kinds of things, because I get anxious, I get so anxious and panicky, because I just can’t seem to be able to do it. I try to logic myself through it, particularly now that I know what this is and where it comes from, and yet my body just screams back that it won’t ever happen, that whatever I’m trying to imagine won’t be my life. That I’ll never get that far. So, I plan my life 12 months at a time, maybe 24, or in the case of whilst I was at university, 36 months. But it’s a block at a time, a goal at a time, all short-term, all small steps leading to some sort of future. And it’s a bit risky, I’m choosing these steps without knowing where they’ll lead. Because how do you choose a subject to study at university without knowing what you want to do at the end of it? Normally you choose to follow up with a postgrad because you want to further your knowledge or take that step to get the job that you want. But in my case it was just something to fill another year of time, something to do. And that’s difficult, finding the next thing to do for the next year just to fill your time, feeling like you have to take it one year at a time because you can’t look at your life long-term like normal people, you don’t see yourself having that long future.
So, I don’t fucking know what my aspirations would be if I could let myself have them. Well, removing all the bullshit effects of trauma would be number 1, but that’s perhaps just a tad unrealistic of me. So I’ll end by telling you a couple of my shorter-term goals instead, because for me, these smaller yearly goals take the place of other peoples life or long-term aspirations. 1. to get a different job. 2. to sit in the same room as pocketcanadian, finally. 3. to keep going with this blog, right through to day 365.
Okay, that’s all I’ve got…