THE DARK PLACE

 

Photo by AI

Have you ever felt completely stuck? Like you’re buried deep in the mud, drowning at the bottom of the ocean, or trapped under a massive rock, with no way out? That was my reality for three years. I hit rock bottom, stuck in the mud, sinking deeper every day.

After I finished my bachelor’s degree, I returned to the village. I couldn’t afford to live in the city without a job, and I had to take care of my little girl. So, home became my refuge. As the saying goes, "East or West, home is best." Well, I hoped it would be.

But it wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t what I had imagined. I stayed at home, caring for my baby and sending out job applications. Over time, job hunting became a full-time job in itself. I would open my laptop—thankfully, I had one—connect to the internet, and send out application after application. I sent so many that I lost track of deadlines.

And every time I received a rejection, it felt like a punch to the gut. No one tells you that after graduation, you’ll be flooded with regrets. Everyone congratulates you and wishes you luck, but they never mention the endless stream of rejection emails you’ll get.

Nine months passed, and still no positive feedback. People began questioning me. Friends would call, asking if I’d landed a job yet. Everywhere I went, I was asked, “What are you doing now? Where are you working?” I got tired—tired of the calls, tired of the questions, tired of the pressure from the outside world. Tired of friends, tired of social media. I was done.

So I gave up on my "job hunting job."

What else could I do? My laptop was filled with music and movies. So, I watched movies—day and night. At first, it felt simple. I had food, clothes, and a roof over my head. Life was easy in a way: wake up, do the house chores, watch movies, repeat.

Sometimes my mom would yell at me, but I’d just plug in my earphones and escape into my films. I disconnected from the world, lost nearly all my friends. Well, almost all—there were two who stayed by my side.

I still had to take care of my baby girl, with no income and no support from her father. I couldn’t even afford diapers for her, and I struggled to provide her with food and clothes. Yes, my family helped when they could, but after a while, even they grew weary of me constantly asking for assistance. I’ll never forget when I asked someone close to me for money to buy diapers, and they responded, “Money isn’t like leaves that fall from a tree.” I felt that—deeply.

That was my dark place.