I've forgotten to take my Prozac the last few days and I want to tear my fucking skin off. It's nearly two am and I'm close to tears, shaking, and unable to fall asleep. I'm just so upset with myself. I don't know why I thought I was so fucking indestructible, so likable, and as a result I walked out of my goddamn job. I promise myself I wouldn't do it again. I swore I wouldn't walk out of another job. To be fair, I guess I technically didn't walk out, but I don't feel like I owned up to it either. There's so much guilt that lives inside my stomach. I miss my residents a lot honestly, I still think about that one I promised to visit and haven't seen in months. I feel like scum. She had done so much for me, taught me so much. I feel horrible. Everything I've ever done wrong is just coming back. I remember getting yelled at by a goddamn ASSISTANT for not answering a call light. I remember the look of disappointment on a resident's face when their bed came undone because the sheets were too small so they had just assumed I'd half-assed it when in reality I had fought with that bed for 10 minutes before having to move on. I literally don't know what I'm supposed to do in this world. I don't want to work in food, definitely not retail, I think I'm pretty wiped out on the medical world after the last couple of years, I just really fucking wish I was good at something and I wouldn't tire of it. I don't know if there's really anything in this world that can hold my attention for longer than five minutes. That'd be asking for too much. Wanting to see the world and enjoy my life and try as many things as possible looks bad in an employer's eyes and I feel like I'm stuck in a fucking rut. I just want a regular fucking job like I have no idea what it feels like to not have to talk yourself up before going into work, sometimes ascending into a short cry session before forcing myself into the car and leaving. I don't know how to get off work and not start fucking bawling from how exhausted my body has become. I don't know how to work a full time job and take care of myself at the same time. And apparently I'm the bad guy for thinking it's important to not kill myself.
But I've felt so lazy, too. All week. I had three things to get done. Drop off a package, bring a VCR back to my dad's house, and cancel my gym membership. And I'm so fucking frustrated I haven't got any of that done, but at the same time I'm scared I'm gonna breakdown on the interstate because I don't have enough gas at rush hour and my mom gave me $10, but I don't want to have to explain to her that I thought I would have more money by now from the survey apps so I took the money and bought weed and now I can't fucking get anywhere and I literally don't know what to do. I guess I'll just ask for gas money tomorrow. I should've had $25 by now, but I won't have it for another 6-10 days it's sounding like. I would NEVER ask my mom for pot money and lie to her about where it's going. Literally the only reason I did this is because I thought I was going to have gas money, I had a plan, and it got fucked up, and now I feel like shit.
I guess I just really need to take my Prozac tomorrow before this gets worse. I haven't missed the sensation of overthinking. I want to get it the hell away from me as quick as possible. It's painful. I just want my thoughts to calm down enough so that they stop feeling like they're prodding at the sides of my temple, just waiting to come out in the form of a mental breakdown. I'm so uncomfortable and the room is quiet and pitch dark and it's only making me more uncomfortable. I just wish I was at home. I want to snuggle up with my cats. I want to lay on the couch in the dark and watch the shows I wanna watch. I want my big fluffy comforter and not whatever this fucking sad excuse for a sheet is. I wanna fall asleep and not have someone waking me up in the morning before my body is ready. I just want to go home and be home. I want to read a book, I want to indulge myself, I want to do the things I've been pushing back, I want to talk to my friends. I just wanna go home. I wanna live at home again. I hate going back and forth between my house and my boyfriend's house. His house doesn't hold a very welcoming aura. It feels like someone just bought the entire Home Depot display because they don't know how to create that home-y feeling and as a result it feels uncomfortable whenever I'm here unless I'm upstairs hidden away from everyone else. It's like that slumber party where you couldn't sleep, but you still had nine hours until your parents came to pick you up and you couldn't wait to go home. Except I'm not going anywhere, I have no plans to go anywhere. I have to somehow transform that shitty sleepover night into a decent day and it's becoming more and more difficult to do. I'm fucking bored.
YOU ARE READING
Never Humble
Non-FictionFor those whose thoughts are frightening, but not enough so that they became a danger to those around them. For those whose thoughts run rampant, causing chaos in your mind, but still having that slight bit of hope you hang onto that we address by s...
