This is fucking heart-breaking. This system steals our finite time on this earth from us. We never get to spend it doing what we want to do, only what will make shareholders wealthier. And then it shames us so fucking hard for not dedicating every waking moment of it to wage work, that we start hating ourselves for having passions.
We're so fucking brainwashed by this system that we hate ourselves for not having time or energy outside of 40+ hours of coerced wage work, instead of hating the people coercing us to do their wage work.
How many fucking great works of art have been lost to oblivion because their potential creator never escaped a sweat shop or a cash register? How many Mozarts have died without ever even touching a musical instrument because they didn't have a rich daddy?
This hurts because when I was a kid I wanted nothing else but to be an author. I wrote constantly, I read books about how to be a better writer. I don't know what happened to that part of me. It's completely gone. I think the pressure put on me to succeed academically destroyed it, because now every time I think of writing I feel anxious and sick to my stomach. I can't do it without feeling like I'm going to die.
I feel this too much comrade. My folks are moving to a new house from the one I spent most of my life growing up, so of course the inevitable digging through history is happening. My mom kept pretty much everything my brother and I did or made, which includes a folder full of very short chapters and world building of a series I wanted to make when I was 10. I remember creating it, but can't recognize the kid behind it. It's like I didn't even keep a single iota of who he was into adulthood.