I'm in survival mode
Mental tolls of precarity
I’m in survival mode.
There is a constant sense of dread. Worry. Anxiety. About the future. About my future.
It’s a constant presence. Like the air I breathe. The ground I walk on.
That’s what having no job security does to you. That’s what precarity does to you.
Sometimes, it’s not so bad. Sometimes, I even manage to forget it. Go about my business without thinking about it.
Hell, sometimes, I actually feel pretty good. I feel like, with all my education background and everything, I have a bright future ahead of me. I feel like I can do anything. If I just manage to get that one job. That one project. Then it will snowball from there and I’ll be okay. I’ll be on my way.
But sometimes, that sense of dread grips me and does not let go. My fear, my anxiety, my regret, they all come back.
And then it’s hell.
I feel worthless. I feel shame. I feel, or better yet, I know I fucked my life. I start hating myself.
And with that comes rage. Rage against myself. Rage against every stupid fucking decision that I’d ever made.
What the fuck was I thinking, doing a Phd? It was financial suicide, and I knew it. And there is one more thing I know. No matter how much I try, there is no coming back from it.
The thing is, I also know that that rage is not real. I mean, that rage is there to cover up the fear, the dread that I feel. The uncertainty about the future. The possibility of failure. The possibility that no matter what I do, it won’t be enough. I won’t be enough.
And the rage is there for another purpose. It goads me on. I use it as a whip to lash myself into action. To keep going. To not give up, one fucking way or another. It’s painful, for sure, and it takes its toll. But it’s better than standing still.
Because I’m afraid, fucking terrified even, that if I stop pedaling, I will fall off the bike. And I can’t face the shame of that. So I keep on lashing myself until something gives.
I just hope it won’t be me.