Phony Life

Inspired by J.D. Salinger's novel "The Catcher in the Rye".

 

I'll never amount to a hill of beans. Useless, that's me.

Scrolling through community college brochures, pages blurring like a bad acid trip, my brain screaming, 'You ain't cut out for this, boy!

I can’t fight off the crippling sensation of "just not being enough", as I'm  scrolling through those darn websites. 

Next month, back to the public school teaching assistant grind, another summer vacation freedom flushed down the toilet. Work days drain the life out of you, leaving you with nothing but the energy to veg out in front of the tube, not crack open a textbook. Feels like my job and my future are on different planets, and after eight hours of herding kids, I gotta start a whole new workday at home just to keep myself afloat. Talk about a double shift. Makes me feel like I'm letting everyone down, like a deflated football. Wish I could explain, but sometimes even my own actions confuse the hell out of me.

I feel sorry for folks who put hopes into me and got let down, but I couldn’t help it.

I ain't got forever to turn my life around. I'm a lucky bastard to even get this chance, but it may be the last. 

The deadline for my term paper looms just a week away, yet here I am, motivation adrift like a deflated raft. I'm no stranger to this game of half-finished endeavors. Part of me whispers doubts, calling it a futile effort. But another, quieter voice reminds me of the looming consequences: expulsion, jeopardizing my future studies, and the sting of not living up to the expectations of a professor I genuinely respect. I do like the dude. I hate that sinking feeling, the weight of unmet expectations from those I value.

In these lousy moments, the angsts, like some phoney phonies at a phony party, crash my scene uninvited. Unemployment, deportation – these ain't exactly words a guy wants dancing the Charleston in his head. I can practically feel them watching me, waiting for the right moment to pull the rug out from under my already shaky feet. "They'll kick you out the second they catch wind, boy," one whispers, and the other chimes in, "Yeah, the minute they see you ain't the real deal, you're outta there, pal."

It ain't a pretty picture, that's for sure. Me, ending up some bum on a park bench, another nobody swallowed by the city. Not my idea of a happily-ever-after, not by a long shot.

Here's the deal: degrees, man. All I see are these phony pieces of paper, supposed to unlock the door to your "dream life." Except my dream life ain't exactly hanging diplomas on the wall. More like chasing ducks in Central Park and avoiding all the phonies who think that piece of paper makes them special.

Liberal Arts? Don't even get me started. Bunch of fancy words and theories that float around in your head like dust bunnies, never doing you any good in the real world. Second-rate degree, second-rate job, second-rate life? Yeah, sounds about right. Stuck in some cubicle, pushing paper for some corporate stooge, my brain turning to mush faster than a banana left in the sun.

And kids? Kids who look at you with disappointment in their eyes because you ain't living some picture-perfect life? Forget it. I wouldn't want to subject them to that kind of phoniness. My path? It ain't paved with diplomas and expectations. It's messy, it's uncertain, and it might piss off a few phonies along the way. But at least it's honest. At least it's mine.

Used to think I was just some broken record, stuck on repeat, playing the same lousy song of limitations. Told myself it was all part of the act, following my "passion" or whatever. Bullcrap. Turns out, most of those limitations were just my brain playing tricks on me, ADHD whisperin' sweet nothings in my ear. Yeah, ADHD. Some fancy word for why I screwed up more than a politician caught with his pants down. Diagnosis, meds, the whole shebang - opened my eyes wider than a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Sometimes, man, I just wanna climb the Empire State Building, yell at the top of my lungs: "It's all about that brain chemistry, baby!" People think they get it, but they're lost in the fog like pigeons with blindfolds. Wrong chemicals, see? That's why I pop pills. Not some junkie, mind you. These are my brain whisperers, helpin' me navigate the mess that is reality. Like havin' a map in a maze, even if the maze keeps changin

"Torn internally"? Gimme a break. You’re not my shrink. It's not some angsty teen movie, man. More like stuck in a silent movie, scared to open my mouth and let the sound out. Whatever, right?

Preaching about the dangers of "pills"? Don't waste your breath. Life's already a jungle gym of dangers, no need to add lectures to the mix. Besides, you think I don't know it's risky? Popping pills ain't exactly like popping candy. But let me tell you somethin': life without them was one long, boring documentary. ADHD, man, it was like my brain was stuck on mute, stuck in slow motion. Now, with the meds? It's like someone cranked the volume and hit fast forward. Suddenly, stuff that used to feel like climbing Mount Everest in flip-flops is actually kinda… enjoyable. Opened a whole new world, you know? Like being able to shake off that fog that clung to me all my life, that fog I just thought was me being "not that bright." Turns out, maybe I wasn't so dim after all. Just needed a little chemical tune-up, that's all."