Another Day

This persistent feeling of loneliness is pissing me off.

The feeling of dragging through the days is pissing me off.

My utter lack of caring about work is pissing me off.

Being overwhelmed by the tiniest task is pissing me off.

Wellbutrin isn’t a magic pill. I’m aware of it. It’s why I have a shrink appointment scheduled for next week. I need something long term. Someone willing to work with me, rather than just let me vent. Venting is great, that’s what this blog is for. But it’s all words, and no action.

The thought of lying down in a little dark room and never getting up again has such appeal. That’s the depression talking. WB has improved some things, but that desire remains fairly constant.

The emptiness of my world, broken up with only interaction from my cat and husband, is too much some times. I don’t speak to anyone at work, and I don’t do any work, unless I am forced to. Given that I make good money, I’m playing a dangerous game.

Part of me wants to be fired. I’m tired of working. I’m burned out. Six months to a year of just not having to work sounds heavenly. But not having health insurance and a paycheck and breaking a five-year record of being employed at a single place is also terrible. I wish I could take a leave of absence. A sabbatical. But my workplace operates off of contracts, the work is take it or leave it. An empty position on a contract means money lost. And it’s not as though I was ever a rockstar programmer with a great reputation, who they’d allow to take a leave of absence.

Right now, even though I’ve only been at work for two hours, I want to leave and go home. I’m tired of myself. I’m tired of work. I’m tired of everything.


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