Why isn’t this working? Diary of a Model Chapter 10

Model, Words and Images: Jasmine Alleva
image: screenshot Golden Hour video by Chris Vongsawat
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Why isn’t this working?

My mother has to deal with bi-weekly breakdowns. Her ear lends itself to my rambling. I don’t know how many times I’ve said I want to quit, that this – this is my victory lap and I’m quitting. And yet, I don’t quit. And she still listens. Like a counselor to an addict. Or worse, a mother to a child who is lost and she can’t rescue, but she tries her best.

I don’t know where I took a wrong turn. I can’t pinpoint when I looked in the mirror and couldn’t see myself anymore. I remember the starts and stops; the triumphs (though minimal) and the downfalls. Always the downfalls. Why are they so vivid?

I also remember every Nike ad that I’ve bought into, encouraging me to just do it, keep pushing, and you’ll get there. As if I could really be Serena Williams – as if what I do is even remotely comparable to what Serena Williams does.

Why isn’t this working?

Maybe I’ve read too much Malcolm Gladwell and can’t understand my circumstances. Or maybe I believed I was Santiago in “The Alchemist” and the hidden treasure is there, but I have to be downtrodden just one more time. The diamonds are behind this coal deposit, right? Keep digging.

Why isn’t this working?

Cocaine was rejected. My body was fed, exercised. Suitors who promised me that they could get me ahead were turned down. My brain is tired of these thoughts running laps around it. Maybe if I worked harder. Maybe if I had abused drugs or used humans. Maybe if I was more reckless. I don’t think I deserve this delayed role diffusion.

Why isn’t this working?

I’ve sacrificed everything but a virgin; given away relationships and family get togethers. Bread was out of my diet. Even prisoners get bread.

My fingers are worn from liking and commenting and hoping that the numbers soar. My eyes are exhausted of seeing negative feedback and how no matter how much effort I put into forgetting those nasty syntaxes, I can’t get them out of my mind.

This is lonely. This is isolating.

Why isn’t this working?

I don’t know. But I came down this mine shaft. I bought the lottery ticket. And I will build the tracks to nowhere, give my time away to hope… because maybe someday my train will come.

 

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