I’ll have random days at a time where I just wanna cry for some reason. Any reason at all. I just don’t have that reason. So I sit there with my tears just waiting for nothing to do. Lachrymose.
I’ve already talked about this a lot, but I’m very Languid these days. And I know it’s not Laziness. I’m so exhausted even during work now. But they keep asking me in. Even when I’ve asked off. I miss everything because of work. Stupid work.
Sometimes I feel like I’m looking into a kaleidoscope. There’s so much going on around me and everyone’s so happy and wonderful and their lives are perfect and they have nothing to worry about. They’re good at what they want to do. They succeed. They do/have nice things. And I’m just sitting here all…depressed and sucking at everything.
All I really wanna say is that those women that ruined my life last year? They need a visit from Karma. And I don’t think they’ll get it. Because truly horrible people never get justice for what they’ve done. That’s why they’re still horrible. It makes me wonder if Karma really even exists.
I started getting irritable the week before my period a few months ago. I got really, really angry. But I could not blow up. That’s the thing about me. I cannot blow up. I simply can’t. And that night I simply couldn’t blow up at my friend. It got to the point where I exploded in tears. I was uncontrollable.
It happened again the next month, at work. I was sent home to a family that didn’t want to understand the fact that I had no control.
I was diagnosed with PMD. I was told to double my meds the week before my period. But I’ve noticed that lately my temper is still getting the better of me. I’m becoming a little more animated behind the backs of rude customers. I’m abusing the registers when they’re low. I don’t know, I’m getting concerned. Hopefully my therapist can figure this out :/.
If having good hygiene is going to make my happy and feel better about myself, then how come I stopped in the first place?
How come I’m the only one I know without a single idea of what I actually -want- to do outside the impossible?
How come I’m the only one I know that’s too exhausted after work to do anything but sleep?
How come writing is so hard for me?
How come I’m so happy being miserable?
How come?
I’m beginning to really realize how many people are out there. How many writers. Each and every one just yearning to be published. To be noticed. To be heard. I mean, my NaNoWriMo group has 113 people. And 90+% of the thousand+ people doing A-Z are writers. That’s just a fraction of all the writers out there. Most of them good and knowing what they’re doing.
What makes me think I’m so special? What makes me think I have the slightest chance of making it? Of actually being published? Ha! What a joke. I’ve never even been in a literary journal. I’ve never even been in a school’s journal. I’ve never been in anything, at all, ever. I’m so stupid, to think I could actually get published. No, I’m going to spend my life in retail. I’m such a loser.
Do I hold a grudge against the people that pushed me into my hole of depression?
The one that kicked me out of her classroom because she didn’t want to do the work of a cooperating teacher?
The one who kicked me out of the program because she didn’t want to deal with the situation? Because they’re literally that desperate for cooperating teachers?
You better believe it! I’ll never forgive them. They didn’t even give me a chance.
Does that mean that I’m always moping about that? Does that mean that they’re the things I think about when I’m upset?
Psh, no way. I have other things to worry about.
