Not Old (Yet), Not Young

I’m 28. Maybe that isn’t old, but it certainly isn’t young either. Really, I stopped being honest about my age offline after I turned 26.

I talked a little before about teaching myself coding. The good news is there are a lot of community spaces for learners and newbies. The discouraging news is I find myself very outmatched in age. It seems in so many, if not all, of these spaces, everyone started coding at the age I was still carrying around a teddy bear.

Yes, yes, I know. “You’re never too old.” But figures of speech are just that. Figures of speech. I can never stop being reminded I wasted my youthful years doing… whatever I was doing that is wildly insignificant now. If God is real, when I die, I will ask why he didn’t give me better intuition as a small child. Seriously, why did I miss out on the intuition to build a necessary skill? Probably because I was stupid and wanted to build blocks, and adults let me so I would shut up and stop crying. *sigh*

Eh. Maybe that’s harsh (probably not), but if I had a child, I would absolutely get them started on coding and programming at as early an age as possible so they avoid this problem. Even if they grew to not want a career related to IT, they’d have a skill they can fall back on. That’s the one thing I miss about not having a child. I won’t have the pleasure of watching my child have a better and brighter future than I do. Granted, I’m fantasizing, but I know I do that a lot. I’m beginning to understand why some parents live through their kids. It’s tough to admit you don’t have the capacity/capability to reach your dreams, and your kid has better chances than you via youth. That’s a terrible thing to do to a kid, but I think I understand it.

Truthfully, I don’t think I am capable of learning because coding is such a humongous field, and IT never stops evolving. There will always be things to catch up on, so I have no idea at what point I could consider myself employable, if that point can arrive. Supposedly, it’s not about memorization, but I want to see how that holds up in an actual job. I feel like it doesn’t. But I’ve also known for a long time I’m not good at anything, so why am I talking like this is surprising? It’s not, but you get my drift. I mean, I’m good at finishing coursework, but so are kindergartners, so who cares? I want a skill most tiny children don’t have, not one most do.

Well, this quickly delved into a post of self-loathing. But it’s really honesty and trying to humor myself. I remember being asked what’s unique about me, and I answered I don’t know because I don’t know. Professionally, there is nothing unique about me. I work in a warehouse, I worked in retail, and I finished coursework. By the way, roughly 39% of the US population has a bachelor’s (not associate’s, which is what mine will be) degree, and it can still not be enough to qualify for anything. It really is little more than a piece of paper to bypass filters. Part of me feels like I’m getting it solely to prove I’m not a total idiot (of course, the two are not mutually exclusive).

Do I have any positivity to add to this post? I really don’t. I’m painfully aware my thirtieth birthday is coming sooner than I would like, and I’m simply glad there is no upcoming high school reunion.

Well, I can always achieve my dreams through fictitious means. And really, my only dream was financial stability. I didn’t even reach for the sky and I still fell flat. Ouch.

Depression, Begone!

In my last post, I mentioned “possible depression”. I don’t know if I genuinely have depression because I don’t have a diagnosis for it (nor do I know how to get one). However, I feel like I’ve had depression since I was 12, maybe a bit earlier since the very first time I said I would hurt myself, I was 10 (I said I would stab myself with a knife).

I used to occasionally look up the symptoms of depression to see if I fit any and sometimes I would, but it didn’t seem to last as long as they were supposed to. If not that, it would be the symptoms seemed to match something else. For example, “social withdrawal” seemed to match my shyness. I eventually stopped that and concluded I didn’t have it. Plus, I suppose a 15-year-old trying to diagnose herself wouldn’t be wise.

Yet, I still feel I could have clinical depression. What keeps me from being certain is I only have the feelings at home. At school or around my friends, they’re practically non-existent, but at home, they’re all but physically visible. Naturally, since my family doesn’t believe in mental illnesses (except retardation, which they consider shameful), I have no help from them.

My wish for this Wednesday isn’t that I knew whether or not I was depressed. It’s that I didn’t have depression at all or that I had nothing to make me believe I do.

Time Forgets Some Wounds

Sometimes, memory is a bad thing. A very bad thing.

Today in school, I had an odd mood swing. I was fine up until my sixth period class, where I got insanely hyper for no apparent reason. Then, at seventh period, I shut down. “Shut down” is what I say when I don’t exactly feel sad, but it’s the closest to how I’m feeling. I did nothing in this class. I wasn’t feeling better by 8th period and did everything slowly: walking in the hallway with my head down, barely paying attention despite wanting to, writing slowly, having my head down with my arms crossed.

Then, for no reason, I started thinking about the past abuse I dealt with as a child. Mostly my mother screaming “Answer Me” at my face, but some other things. I also remembered the times she hit me and threatened to, but the screaming came to my mind more. Alright, maybe screaming isn’t abuse and the hitting borders on it (I really don’t know), but it’s not something I recall helping me down the line in any way. After those memories, I started thinking of a scene from a TV show where a woman in her early twenties is called nothing because she slacks off at new job. Except I put myself in the scene and imagined wanting to throw myself off a building after that. I imagined this several times in different ways and eventually started crying. Fortunately, not much and no one noticed.

Why this happened, I don’t know, but it’s not the first time. I don’t do it on purpose. After all, who’d want to recall something painful? So my wish for this Wednesday is that I could forget all of this and every painful memory I have of my childhood and adolescence. That wouldn’t leave many for childhood, but I’d rather remember nothing than remember hurt.