i don’t know what to believe

by epi

this is no existential crisis. that needs to be said before anything else. i do not doubt my God, my savior. I am just unsure. about… life, I guess. about my role in any of this. about when does panic fade? and what i can do as a black social worker? black & social work usually go in the opposite direction i’m told. is that confusing? i mean, blacks are usually the ones with things being done to them by social workers. and here’s me, wanting to be a doer, not a doee. what right do i have? furthermore, the debt i’m racking up will exceed my annual salary, most likely anyway. i’m struggling because though i’m told this is exactly where i need to be, and that i am doing exactly what i need to be doing (okay okay… i’ve told myself that, no one else), i’m not sure it’s what i WANT. but then again, i don’t know what i want. or, if i want anything. i only see 3.5 semesters of trudging through social work, racking up experience and debt and three letters that are supposed to make my resume sparkle. except, i’m black and a woman, and they keep telling me that history has shown that in some cases, there’s no glitter sparkly enough to overcome discrimination. whether they mean to say it or not, i hear that i’m doomed.

so i should quit then, of course. except i don’t want to. i like it here. i like the learning and the people and wherewasi? oh yes. i can’t think of anything else i’d rather do. and it’s not like i’d rather be doing “nothing”, because the thought of empty days and nights make me wanna gag. i’d probably just eat captain crunch and watch hulu and end up weighing 350lbs and wearing only spandex. and i mean, yes, that is kind of a secret wish of mine, but not right now. first i have to run a marathon. anyway… if it’s not WHAT i’m doing or WHERE i am that are the problem… it must be who i am. or something in me. or at least, that’s the conclusion i’m coming to. that something in my brain is broken. i don’t want to be broken anymore, which mean i have to get fixed. i don’t want to do that either. get fixed. doesn’t that mean i can’t fix myself? and that i’ve been wandering around broken? and that maybe i’ve screwed some stuff up and maybe if i’d come to this conclusion earlier… it’d be different? *she toasts to mistakes that can’t be undone* oh well. perhaps i’ll just count it growth and learning experiences and praise my savior that it didn’t end differently.

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