I am not happy - but maybe that's ok!

I am not happy. And I don't think I have been for a while. Sometimes I don't even remember the times I actually was happy. When I was an overweight teenager being bullied by the whole school? Or when I was a kid, convinced that I would never be able to be good enough for my parents since they lost their son (and my beautiful twin brother) and I just wouldn't do?


Of course I had plans when I was a teenager! Plans that had painted a clear picture of the life I was going to be living by the time I was 25. I was going to lose weight, I was going to break free from a small world where me being a singer wasn't really something people took seriously so I was going to move to NYC and study there and "make it" - I would never come back! I would prove all the bullies wrong and I would turn into a swan and I would finally be beautiful and successful.

And some of those plans did happen. I did lose weight! Over 20 kilos in fact - and it lead me straight down into a spiral of self destruction and an eating disorder I am still fighting against every day up to this day (having gained all of the weight back, I might add). I did move to New York! But after studying Musical Theatre the "success" didn't happen and after a year I had to leave my beloved NYC due to visa issues and because I had absolutely no money. I went to America! But I was kicked out of Chicago and moved back to my home town where I am currently living.

So there I was. On my 25th birthday at the end of august. A complete failure in my eyes.

And no, this is not me being ungrateful. I know how lucky I am! I have friends and family that would do anything for me and I love them to pieces. I moved back here and found jobs that allowed me to get back on my feet and survive financially. I know that life takes good care of me - just not in the ways I want it to.

People tell me it's my age. That no one in their twenties know where they're going, that it is a difficult time and that it will all get better if I just hang in there.

But will it really? Or is that something we tell ourselves at 3am, when the fear of an unclear future keeps us awake? I see my friends succeeding - performing, singing, living in NYC --- doing all the things I always wanted to do! Am I not good enough for that kind of life? Is it that? Maybe all those small town people were right and I shouldn't be singing! I did book jobs in NYC, how come I don't even get callbacks here in Germany?

Or is it just not the time? Does life want something else from me? I still study literature and philosophy - maybe that is where I am headed; but then why does the thought of not singing feel so wrong?

I am not happy. And that doesn't mean I can't go out for a drink but you might glance over in a second where I feel like no-one is watching and you might catch me staring off into the air in front of me and when you say my name I will turn to you and smile - but if you look closely enough, you will see the emptiness in my eyes in that millisecond it takes for the smile to reach my eyes and cover it up.

The other day I auditioned for a project that was incredibly important to me. I was emotionally invested - and every performer knows that that's never good! I didn't get it. Once again, I wasn't picked. And that night I took a walk. It was late and I walked through the woods and without me realizing it at first I took the same route I used to walk a million times when I was a teenager - it was the same route I used to take when I was trying to escape the bullying and the darkness of my life back then and when I was picturing my future and making all those plans! I stopped on top of the hill from where you can look down on the lights of the town and remembered how I used to look down and decide who I was gong to be with 25 - and how I would've everything figured out.

Now I am 25 and I am still as heavy as I was then, I am still not a "successful performer" and I sure as hell haven't figured anything out! I am not any steps closer to that ideal version of me I dreamed of 8 years ago, because when it is important, I still don't get picked.

And that was the moment I decided that if no one picks me - I am picking myself! And I am casting myself in the role of a life time: the role of a successful, happy Marfa - in whatever shape or form that might be! Instead of 25 being the year where I will have reached my goals, 25 will be the year I finally heal. I will find a doctor who will help me figure out why I am physically so drained often and so tired (last reminders of the years my ED ruled me). I will find help to live a life free of labels like "bipolar" and "depressed". I will finish my novel and work and study --- and I will never stop singing!

So welcome to this journey! It will be a journey of self discovery and soul searching! A journey filled with surprises, sad and happy lines and lots of moments. Thats what life is made of, isn't it? Moments! Let's put them on a string and I will wear them on my 26th birthday like pearls around my neck. And maybe, just maybe, I will be happy then.

No, I am not happy! I feel like I am not getting anywhere (which is ironic since I don't even know where I am going), I feel like I don't have a home and I mostly feel tired from banging on a million doors without even one opening. But maybe that's ok. Maybe it is time to hang up the "under construction" signs and take a look inside. If a tree needs to have roots before the branches can grow, maybe it is time to nurture these parts of me.

For if uneasiness always means change and pain always means healing - maybe I am on the right track after all.

Like Rilke said:

"So don't be frightened, dear friend, if a sadness confronts you larger than any you have ever known, casting its shadow over all you do. You must think that something is happening within you, and remember that life has not forgotten you; it holds you in its hand and will not let you fall. Why would you want to exclude from your life any uneasiness, any pain, any depression, since you don't know what work they are accomplishing within you?"

 --- Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Love, 

Marfa