I have been telling prospective employers that I am freelancing, but that’s not true. I am doing projects, but not getting paid for them. Maybe it is part of the problem, me lying about it. What if I told the truth?
“I’m taking the time off to spend with my family and work on my health”?
It indicates, accurately, that pleasing an employer is something I’m not overly invested in. It makes it sound less like I’m a workaholic.
Anyway, yesterday I was chatting with someone on masking, and it clicked;
I may be sentenced to life in this body, but anything beyond staying alive is purely optional. I don’t have to please anyone. I don’t have to make anything happen. My job is to stay alive longer than the people who love me. All else is window dressing.
Realistically; what consequence is left? I am already in so much pain I can barely function, and more pain pushes me closer to death. There’s nothing to be afraid of, because I’m living the nightmare.
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I’m tired of living in my body. I wish I could transform into something else just to feel more free.
There is a song line in my language: “Gham se ab ghabrana kaisa, gham so baar mila.”
Meaning “why be afraid of pain anymore, I got pain a hundred times.”