The value you produce

It’s about time to consider giving up. It’s the second time within four days that people call me naïve. I hate this word, it sounds childish and I refer it to being gullible. I’m too sceptic to be gullible, too cynical to believe that people are genuinely good. You think I believe what certain employers say to me, but I don’t. What I do is I immediately think about my dreams and goals and I believe I can reach them. So if an employer says that I can earn 100k in a year, I only have in mind the debt that I can pay back to my parents – that’s all. It’s not simply the money, but also the challenge involved. I can never learn enough.
At least now I know that London is full of hungry wolves – you have to be ruthless if you want to survive and I noticed that I’ve not been ruthless enough. I’ve been hiding in my room, writing. I enjoyed it, it has been the best year of writing and I just can’t accept the fact that it’s over. I don’t want to take the next step into something that I don’t want to be involved in.
But there is no other way.
I chose to live in a town where it is impossible to save money; where people are unavoidable and looking to take you for granted.

I thought I found a one bed flat to myself for a fair price, but it turned out to be a double room in a house. I took it because there was only little time left.
I have a nice landlady who taught me about survival, but I don’t really have my space; I’m renting a room after all, which includes shower and a kitchenette, even a TV that I don’t use. To use the toilet, which is next to the dining room, I have to run downstairs and my landlord’s usually in the dining room every late afternoon till late, working. So whenever I go downstairs, she’d stop me for a chat. It’s ok every now and then, but I’ve been finding myself holding my bladder more often lately. There are days where I just don’t want to open my mouth and utter a word. This is a difficult thing to make people understand, so I don’t bother.
Today my landlady has her granddaughter around. She looked at me like every child would – as though I was an alien. After a fucking “Ni hao”, I felt like slapping her mouth. She’s screaming and laughing like a witch. I can’t stand this any longer. Envious of children because they are who I never was. As a child I’d kept my mouth shut most of the time. A monster used to tell me to keep my mouth shut. It had even outlived the child that I was.

I wish my mum remembered whether or not I cried at my birth. All I remember is the blue medical clamp…

Here’s my mask, does it make me look I’ve aged? I have aged.

I wish I had meine eigenen vier Wände.

I’m sick of telling friends about my life, but what else do you talk about with friends? How come I manage to feign enthusiasm? In Germany, it was a lot easier, we just went dancing, but I’ve forgotten how to dance.

I’m so tired. But I grant myself no day off, there is no time. I’m proud to say that within 6 days I produced 7000 words. I’m getting further and further with Somewhat Damaged; I still need more time but I can’t afford to take the time. I wish. During the studies, I should have dedicated more time to writing rather than only 8-10 hours a day. For a slow writer like me, I NEED MORE TIME. More time, more fucking time.

I’m accused of being naïve, biased, cynical and not knowing what I want. I’m none of that. Think what you want. I’m just fucking tired!!! But there is no time to be tired, no time to wait. There are wolves out there; I have to take care of things and myself. I have to face so many people, deal with so many people, so how dare you describe me like that? Be lucky if you have the opportunity to choose people that you want to interact with. In the big city you cannot do that. And it just happens that you bump into arseholes every day.
The only reason why I let the brainwash process occur was that it had put me into a good mood; it had indirectly made me believe that quick success was possible. It was too good to be true, so I dwelt in it for a while.

You don’t even know why I do what I do. I am a mistake machine. My life builds on mistakes, miserable, menacing, mortifying mistakes. Do you ever believe that you don’t deserve certain things? But you know you can make yourself deserve them by working hard? To work hard on something takes time; it always does. But as an artist you always have to work twice as hard. People with life numbers 2, 4 and 8 are the fuckers who know exactly how to get their way round the business world. Am I being biased again? Probably, but common, it’s nothing to be taken seriously, you know. It’s only a way to explain the inexplicable. I LIKE MAKING THINGS UP. You should know by now…

Due to certain medication, I’ve lacked appetite, which was good, because I no longer go to the gym, but now feeling all hungry again, I wonder how I’ll survive this.
Maybe I should jog around the cemetery.

Sometimes I think about the best year of my life so far and it was between the ages of 16-17. Millennium – that was it. I made my first proper friends; I went to Poland for an exchange and it was the first time I got drunk. Everyone loved me. And then a stupid realisation occurred: I didn’t like myself.

First day at work tomorrow, I no longer care. I sold myself for a low price because it never occurred to me that I was in any way valuable. Not yet.

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