| 2002-11-13 - 4:44 p.m.
morose
I feel dead. Like I'm living in pudding. It's all slow and numb. Except, of course, the anger. The anger and despair are right there. All the negative emotions are there. I fantasize about flipping out at everyone. Telling one co worker that I'm sick of his freakish need to have the temperature always below 70 degrees. I want to tell the Drama Queen that she's obnoxious and embarassing. I want to tell anyone who needs anything from me to bug the fuck off and figure it out on their own. Evey little thing is a Big Fucking Deal to accomplish. I could be perfectly happy just sitting and staring. Or sleeping during the day. It just all seems so dark. So hopeless. So...so...useless. I want to not be here. Nothing seems worth it. I want joy. Don't other people experience pure joy? I don't. I just have days when I'm less bummed than others. Where is the joy? Where is the excitement? I'm a non drinker (with alcoholics falling out of my family tree), yet in the past couple of weeks, I've found myself fantasizing about going home and drinking to "take the edge off". What the fuck is THAT about? I hate this. And the kicker is, I know I should just get my ass into the doctor's office and start treatment for depression. Why don't I? Why? Am I afraid of feeling better? What is it? It's a palpable ache.
0 comments so far
|