Sandra Gibbons

Sandra Gibbons

lives in beautiful Northwest Arkansas. She writes about parenthood, lessons learned, and creating moments of happiness.

Hello, Heaven

I’ll be honest with you. I’m drunk right now, and I’m feeling really down and out, but I’m hoping writing it out helps alleviate some of my pain.

I can have the greatest day, but that inevitable low always comes soon after. At the moment, I feel like a 27 year old loser.  A failure in her own right. I’m feeling so completely lost… and so very lonely.

In fact, I feel so lonely I could die.

Anyone who truly knows me, knows that I’ve always had a quiet sadness about me, but right now, I feel so abysmally down… and I don’t know what I can possibly do to shake that dark feeling. What triggered this relapse… I would probably say my phone conversation with my sister. I know she means well, but my God I feel like slitting my wrists right about now. She’s in complete protest of my decision to work at Hooters. She likened me to a prostitute, and it’s not a good feeling. I tried explaining to her that it was my plan to find something not serious to stay afloat financially, but she doesn’t understand it. She, like my mother, thinks I need to get a real job… to suck it up and accept that path as my future. But from my experience in having “real” jobs, I’d rather just kill myself than sell out my soul and live that way—to accept the fate of a dead peasant. I don’t wish to sacrifice my youth… my ever-dwindling light so that some faceless elite prospers. I’m just so very sad.

The counterpart to my sister’s phone call, would be the series of texts between me and the estranged boyfriend.

Maybe a 27 year old will want to go live at your dads

Ouch. Thank you for reminding me of what a failure I am. Thank you. To give a summary of the context behind this, that was his reply to me telling him that he honestly didn’t care enough to be with me. He wasn’t willing to suffer through the hard times before arriving at a happier future with me. He just wasn’t.  Yes. I am 27 and I do live with my dad. So what? You knew you were welcome here—so don’t sit there and blame my father or me complaining about his girlfriend as your reason in leaving. All my father wanted for you was a great job that got you out there networking. Hey… you’re 25 years old and about to move in with your soon-to-be single brother. How is that any different?  But you’re right, you’re so much better than I am.  You’re so much smarter.  You’re so much more responsible.  You have so much more going for you. Fuck you. Fuck you—fuck your spoiled ass best friend, Jimmy. Fuck your Kansas City job hookups. Just FUCK YOU. You know there are even worse things I can say about you, but I’ll do you a favor and leave that out. You’re welcome.

You know, American society is a harsh and independent environment. For those of you who are cultured or have family members from other countries, I love you. You understand that their cultures are far more welcoming and nurturing than the prototypical American family. It’s not only accepted, but encouraged for children to live with their parents as long as possible. Their families are large and boisterous… and they see nothing wrong with children being at home. Everyone has a role, and they all pitch in to better the family unit. I don’t want to live at home forever. I really don’t. But please don’t try and make me feel like a failure for doing so. To me, there’s really no sense in taking out a lease somewhere until I’m engaged and ready to start my own family. How dare you belittle me for feeling this way. So yeah. Go to your Nascar freebie with your boyfriend. Enjoy that.

I’m so sick and tired of the “gotta have it right now” mentality. No one’s willing to work through the obstacles. No one wants to have to endure any sort of challenging situation… they just want everything their way, RIGHT NOW. I’m so tired of it all.

Thank you for waking me up to who you are.

Sweet November

Quarter-Life Crisis, Part II