Wasted Potential

I type and type, making myself seem useful while being completely ignored. My mind wanders, thinking that surely there is something better than this. A third of my day, a third of my life, has been spent on things and events that have nothing to do with me. I'm just a pawn that pushes a cart someone else owns, leading to a paradise I won't be allowed to get into. My time, my energy and sanity are spent on everything but me. It's been like this for years, working and working just to pay for my time on this planet without any guarantees.

I'm neither young nor old. I'm at that age where nobody cares about me; Too old to be catered to, too young to be respected and relevant. I'm like the air, invisible and taken for granted until needed. The world has given up on me and its expectations are for me to become its silent servant until the day I die. It is only natural; My value is deeply proportional to my ability to provide food to my loved ones and produce capital to the ones I loathe.

But I keep typing away, riding the bus, returning at night and waking up early to repeat the endless cycle. The days go faster and faster, sometimes I'm numb and don't care about anything. Then there are the days where many things matter to me: education, health, peace. I want to do so many things. I want to create art, to help others in need, to work in projects that have a positive and useful impact in the world. I want to sweat and bend my back if it means a child or elder will have a safe shelter and food every day. These are the days I love and hate. My fire burns, powerful and dangerous. But my shell, exhausted from a meaningless routine and filled with cold hate for the world, keeps the flames inside, cooling them until there is nothing alive anymore.

Sometimes I think that my life is a joke. I spend most days and hours working for a company that produces nothing useful nor positive. I don't feel accomplished and my time has been objectively non-productive. It gets worse. My mind wanders again when I feel sad about my life, reminding me without fail that there are those who aren't as fortunate to even have a job or a roof like I do. I acknowledge this, I truly and deeply do. Those circumstances are exactly what fuel my fire but the conditions I live in make it very difficult for me to help others. I'm tired every day, feeling angry at myself and the world. I want to help, I need to help but the moment I send money or share a plate, I risk being the one on the streets. I feel like people have been pitted against each other.

Was I born to generate profits for people I don't know? What are those profits for? Will they resolve hunger, housing and health?

I ask myself these things almost every day, and I know the answers already. What can I do when I don't even have enough for myself in terms of capital, energy and sanity? While I've contemplated suicide very carefully, that won't solve anything. The world will still be running under those who never earned their power. Also, I'm not alone, I need to take care of others. I feel like the only way to provide to others is at my expense. Somehow, I feel like this isn't natural. How do I break free without harming others? Is that possible?

I crave learning, being useful, helping others with things they actually need. But here I am, torturing myself with questions I know the answers to. I'm typing my misery and hope that you are too. Because I'm sure that you, like me, are sick of this world we live in. There has to be a better way to live, free and far from those who are useless. So, if you've read this far, I feel it's important for me tell you something.

Thank you for being with me.