My pride has taken several hits over the past week.
I've had to ask for help.
I hate asking for help. I feel like it is a failure on my part to require help. In truth, it is. I failed to budget properly, to plan properly, to spend prudently.
Many of you know that I've been flat broke for the better part of two weeks. So broke, in fact, that I was living on toast and Vegemite (the Vegemite had been given to me, so I didn't pay for it) and boiled lentils for the past little while. I don't recommend that diet to anyone, by the by. I mean, I love my Vegemite as much as the next Australian, but having to ration a loaf of bread sucks balls.
I've been hungry a lot these past few days.
I tried to keep it light and fluffy - hah hah, starving artist - but honestly, I'm tearing up a little writing this. That's how hungry I was. There is nothing quite so dispiriting as an empty refrigerator.
Ladies and gentlemen, I will be turning 32 in a few months.
I'm 32 years old, employed full time and I can't even afford groceries.
I feel like a complete failure right now, to be honest. How, how, how am I 32 and still living like I'm a seventeen year old university student away from parental supervision for the first time in her life? How did I manage to pull off that spectacular deficiency?
And you know what had me the most worried? Not that I would run out of bread before I got paid. Nope. My biggest concern was that I wouldn't have enough to buy stock for the upcoming C.O.N. Market. I'm completely out of stock at present. I need a fair few coins to order in enough.
So, despite hating every second of it, I asked my brother to help me out. Thankfully he said yes, because he's cool and generous like that. But I feel sick to my stomach that I had to ask at all. I feel like I'm taking advantage of his coolness. I'm not. I will be paying him back. I just... asking for help, particularly financial help, makes me nauseous.
Yeah, sure my brother has a well-paying job and far out-earns me, but my dreams are not his responsibilities. I should be able to get this shit together myself.
At the moment, however, I simply can't.
It has really brought me very low.
Even with the promise to pay him back.
Having wonderful friends also means that sometimes you don't have to ask for help for help to come anyway. Friends of mine sent the Amazing Flatmate home with some food for me yesterday. It really was very sweet, and so, so kind (which is just typical of them, actually. I know some amazing people). It still stung my ego a little bit. There was a great deal of chagrin that came with accepting the food.
Don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful (guys, I ate something other than lentils for dinner last night, and I thought I was in heaven!). It's just... well... It shouldn't have to come to this. I shouldn't be getting free food from friends because they're worried for me. This is, pardon my language, fucking ridiculous. I'm supposed to be an adult!
I debated whether or not I should press the publish button on this blog post, because I'm not looking for a pity party. This isn't a cry for help! Keep your non-perishables for yourselves! But I did decide long ago that I wanted to be open and honest with my readers and this is a part of my life at the moment. Sometimes, guys, life just doesn't go the way you imagined it would. Sometimes, you're eating nothing but bread and lentils at 32.
Also, don't send me any money, either... unless it's to buy my books. I can handle that, because at least this way, you're also getting something of value out of the arrangement. At least that way, I'll feel like I earnt the money coming my way.
Thank you, to all my friends and to my brother for helping me out so much. I'm struggling with accepting help as a general concept - I spent most of my time growing up being by myself doing things for myself. I very rarely asked for help even when I should have. That said, I really am grateful for your aid, and I owe you so very much.
I feel like needing (genuinely needing rather than just wanting) help has made me a failure... you know, even more than I already felt I was (those rejection letters are piling up). Instead of merely failing at my chosen profession, however, I now fee like I'm failing at life.
Can I just build a pillow fort and hide there forever?
So, in case there are any other adults out there who are not adulting well, know you're not alone. At least one other person is failing at life too. We should start a club. There would be cookies, but ...
Anyway, things are looking up, and I should be back to my usual self soon. On that note, I have a Welsh lesson to get finished! Thank heavens for free podcasts...