Recently I finally have gotten around to reading something that has been on my “to read” list for a long time. Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis. A fascinating short story about a man who becomes a bug. However, there is something about the story that has gotten stuck in my head. The main character Gregory, and his family rely heavily on societal expectations and pleasing them. Gregory’s very first thought upon turning into a bug is that he is late for work. He near kills himself to try and go to work, despite turning into a giant beetle, for fear of being fired from his job even though he has never been late in years of working. His family hides Gregory away as a shameful thing. To make up for the lack of his income, they all get jobs and rent a room out of the house to make money. They go to insane lengths to please the renters of the room. Meanwhile, Gregory hides away and makes a great effort not to upset his family despite being mistreated and dying. He places the needs of others so far above himself that he dies not to upset it. His family only grow contempt for Gregory and wanted to get rid of him near the end. They decide that Gregory has no intelligence from his formal life because they never try to look and Gregory never tried to show it. In the end, Gregory dies alone, and the family gets a happy ending, calling out of work for the first time, kicking out the renters, and firing the rude maid. They realize they can do what they want with their lives and have an open future ahead of them.
So why is this story so stuck in my head? Gregory dies alone with his family seeing him as nothing but a giant insect with no intelligence. This is depressing alone but it’s Gregory’s nature that hits me. I used to be a lot like him. Haveing so little self-worth that any action was taken by the people around me always held more value than myself. I was prepared to die alone in my room trying to cause as little trouble to others as possible. Perhaps like Gregory, I saw myself as an insect. I would live and die a short life avoiding the lives of others.
Self-worth is just so very important to a healthy life. Somewhere along my life I never learned it, and have been trying ever since. If you don’t have the confidence to take a single sick day from work, to take care of yourself then you are barely living. It’s okay to be selfish, your existence is important enough that you can slightly burden others.
PS. I like to thank my brother for letting me rant about Kafka for a night.
An old story that I have told many times now. I stay up late, it is my birthday, and am lost in my head. I’ve said this before, but I think it is important to say, again and again, I did not expect to live this long. I am almost thirty, I truely believed without a doubt in my mind that I would be dead by now. In that respect, every moment I still exist exceeds my childhood expectations for me.
I grow older, but in many ways, I am still a child. I suppose I am not unique in this. We are all still learning, and growing and changing as people. The change is so much more subtle than I thought as a child. Depressed, happy, thoughtful it is all still me. As a teenager, you strive to be unique and even I often wondered who I would be without my depression. While my depression may never go away completely, I have learned to manage it better and better. I understand now that am still me, no matter how I change.
A New Years toast to all of the outcasts and misfits. A toast to the mentally ill and the grieving. To my friends and family. It may not seem like much, another year passing, but surviving year to year is an accomplishment you should be proud of.
The holidays never seem easy. Nights grow longer and colder and so does my heart. I want to sleep…I never want to wake up from my dreams. As I lay in bed, loneliness and depression fall over me like a blanket. I’ve wasted nights like this.
Still, I must wake up eventually. No matter how much time I waste I still get up because am still breathing. Am still alive so I will continue to wake up. I will seek out the small moments that keep me alive. An interesting boo, a night in an empty movie theater, a cold dark drive on empty roads, or a hug from my sister who I haven’t seen in a while. Such moments are what keep me still breathing.