Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Make dinner. Go to bed. Do it all again. 

Every day, it was harder to get out of bed. Then there came a day when I didn’t. 

My boss called three times and I didn’t answer. Instead I scrolled through my email, looking for a reply to any of the three other jobs I had sent in resumes for weeks ago. There was nothing. 

I stayed in bed for hours, thinking. I didn’t understand why life was attacking me. I’d always been told that I was destined for greatness, that I had such a brilliant mind. I’d had high hopes for a meaningful career, a fulfilling day to day life. 

Instead, I got this. 

Once I’d thought myself into a depression, I scrolled through the news to add fuel to the fire. A headline about the impeachment trial caught my eye, but not for the usual reason. The word “trial” echoed around in my head. 

What if life was putting me on trial? What if this wasn’t an attack, but a test, sharpening me before my future came?

I sat up. I wasn’t going to let myself be condemned. I was going to defend myself and fight back. 

I applied to ten jobs that day, and seven the next. I got rejections or silence from every single one, but I kept going anyway. 

I was destined for greatness, and I would not let this trial condemn me.

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