I could be doing something productive
But I’m not
I could be doing something fun
But I’m not
I could be doing something worthwhile
But I’m not
I’m not doing any of those things
Because inside I’m cold, empty, sad
I don’t know why I’m not happy
But I’m not
I hate mental illness sometimes.
It just fucks everything up. I’m fine one minute, then sad the next. For no fucking reason. And it sucks.
There’s nothing that happened today to make me down, but since I’ve gotten home from work it’s started.
I feel hopeless. I feel like it’s never going to end–never mind that I don’t know what “it” is or why I want “it” to end. Don’t start freaking out though; I know that “it” isn’t life. I want life to keep going on. I don’t want that to end. Just…something.
It’s the usual depression symptoms. Loss of interest in the things I like to do. Withdrawal into myself. General malaise. It’s actually quite boring. I’m bored with depression. Go figure.
I’m just over it. Sick and tired of it. I need to kick my own ass into gear. Bust my chops. Smack myself upside the head and tell myself to quit whining and do something.
If only I could find the energy to do all that.
Thanksgiving is coming up soon, but I don’t know if it will be soon enough.
With as hectic as work has been lately and as many hours as I’ve been getting, I’m becoming increasingly mentally drained. I can’t write. I don’t want to read or sew or draw or, well, do anything. I just want everything to stop.
No, not stop permanently. Just stop long enough for me to recharge. Regain my footing. Keep from losing my ever-loving mind.
I have a couple of tentative half days coming up before Thanksgiving, but I worry that they won’t be enough. There’s always something that needs to be done…and because of that, my brain is trying to shut down. Or at least part of it is. The emotional part. Well, the happy emotional part.
I can’t wait for those four and a half days where nothing is required of me other than to show up and hang out with family.
Three weeks. Three long weeks.
