I've typed and deleted about six paragraphs in the past 25 minutes. I want to write fluidly and coherently about how vacant I feel, but it is all a jumble of silly words and teenage diary calibre histrionics. I'm going to dispense of any and all pretense of clarity and attempts at trying to write properly because I just give up.
I am so tired of my entire body existing in a state of constant tension because I hate my job and hate my godforsaken incompetent shrew of a "boss". I am frustrated that my own organisation doesn't think I'm good enough to succeed in a higher position, but most of all, this just makes me sad. Sad that I have drive, initiative, appropriate professional background, but that it seems to make no difference. I then worry that perhaps I'm not as good as I think I am after all, which is an admission that I'm not quite willing to make.
I hate that I don't ever have an hour's relief from anxiety weighing so heavily on me that I make myself sick. I hate that I can't get anything done, ever, and that any task I complete has been about 6 weeks in the making. I hate the fact that I have made an attempt to be physically fit for the first time in 10 years, yet my overpowering sense of defeat in all aspects of my life has worn me down too much to bother running on most days. I hate how I thought running would be the magic balm to my emotional ills like the doctor told me it would be.
I hate that I am here typing this post instead of spending time with my daughter. As I'm tapping away, she's sitting in her room listening to nursery rhymes and paging through books alone. I'm here because I know if I'm not, I'm probably losing my patience and praying for bedtime.
One of the most humiliating aspects of all of this is one which you'd hope I'd be smart enough to say under the veil of anonymity on Swallow the Key - I rely far too much on blogging to keep me happy. I worry about traffic, I worry about comments, I worry about popularity based on the previous factors, and it's just tragic. I spend so much of my real life masking how I feel, that to have this form of release is addicting. It says far too much about my lack of self-esteem, and I feel as if I should go beat myself with sticks for even making this imaginary world my real one. I have long said that I don't have many female friends because I can't tolerate all of The Drama, yet here I am wallowing in it.
I'm not entirely sure why I've even bothered with all of this. I don't know what anyone can say to make the situation any different. I've thought about stepping out for awhile, release myself from the need for validation through twittering and blogging, but we shall see how (un)successful I am at such an endeavour. I want to tell myself to shut the fuck up already, I can't imagine how you must feel. Ugh, the emotion! The wailing! The hand-wringing!
The drama endeth here.