GGGRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes I have these panic attacks.

At first, they fill me with anger. I get so frustrated — so upset — I can hardly think straight; I just want to scream into a pillow, take up boxing, or poignantly argue with the influencers in my life so clearly they’ll loose their words and I can walk away proud that I have disarmed them, that they’re unable to argue back. These are the moments I want to take on the whole f---in' world.

So the anger turns into inspiration. I feel remarkably qualified but totally unfocused. I can do anything if only someone somewhere would point me in the right direction. For the love of God, isn't there someone, anyone, out there hearing me holler into the storm? I feel like I should pick up a job at one of the most prestigious consulting firms just because I can — because in my mind I'm totally qualified — and just for the skills I would gain. Suddenly, I’m frantically seeking that job: Is it at McKinsey? That lobbying firm in DC? Where? When? How? Then I realize all these openings require a master's degree or an Ivy League education and tons of contacts. While I pretend to have the latter two prerequisites, I find myself exactly where I started: poor and in pursuit of grad school, relying on patience I simply don't have.

Sigh.

I think I get angry because people are always judging me — for better or worse. They think they know exactly what I am, so have these incredible expectations. But they’re so often wrong. They see me as the capable employee who loves working 60 hour weeks. I'm reliable—infallible—professionally. I'm the reckless free spirit who makes dramatic and life-changing decisions on a whim that end up turning out well only because of remarkable luck and good fortune. I'm the naïve little girl who believes people are inherently good and not manipulative or misleading. I'm the one who will save the world, or at least leave a mark. I'm too independent and self-assured to want to be dependent on a man or to have a family. I'm the friend who falls through time and time again because I'm so easily distracted. While I’d love to be many of these things, I don’t think I’m any of them.

I am a young professional who's eager to learn but being broken. I'm quite thoughtful and do a whole lot of work, but I’m tired, and I do subscribe to the whole “No one said on their deathbed that they wished they spent more time in the office.” Believe it or not, I do think before I make a move; I'm a calculated risk taker. I know what people are really after. I'm really quite ordinary. I believe in hopelessly romantic love; I want a partner in crime and babies of my own. I have too much on my plate, but behind my thick skin is a loyalty unlike any other: friends and loved ones are all that matter; it’s the relationships one has that make life interesting. I may not let a lot of people in, but once you’re in, you're in.

I am screaming right now. It's just all this pent up frustration makes me want to vent in the way that flows most naturally for me — writing. My head hurts I'm gritting my teeth so hard. Don't you hear me?! Probably not; you're reading this and rolling your eyes at the little whiney girl you see me as. Suddenly I understand how the psychoanalysts preach that everyone feels misunderstood. I have The Animals on repeat in my brain.

My grandfather this weekend defined happiness as "bien dans la peau" — confident and content in your own skin. I am that. I know who I am and I'm happy with it... If only it were that simple. From time to time even the happiest people break under the perceptions and expectations imposed upon them by the valued influencers in their life. Sometimes those expectations are the pushes — the confidence boosters — needed to do something extraordinary. Sometimes they’re the straw that breaks the camel’s back. One of these days I will fall in one of those directions. I will take on the world, or I will break.

Until that day comes, I’ll just scream into the pillow.