My Life, In A Fucked Nutshell- Unedited

My performance has seriously downgraded at work as of lately. Actually, as of these past couple months, when the melancholia has steadily crept back in to take me down. (I told you it was a stirring beast, always there, waiting, plotting when to make its move at any sign of a useful external trigger to attack and cause me to lose it hysterically- anything goes.)

But I feel as if I am in limbo most of the time. Well, that seems to be my constant state of being. My excessive and ever-present constant state of existing. I don't think this is what was intended when I spoke from passion about existentialism. This is a whole other type where it confiscates- locks up, my self-control and renders me completely powerless in my own body and actions. It's passed that. For a person who has to be always in control- for an extreme "controlist" (yeah, I just made that word up, so sue me), I am never in control anymore. I find myself constantly in a waiting period. The waiting room of life. But I don't know what I'm waiting for. I don't know anything anymore. I just know that I can't anymore. Can't do it. But what is it that I can't do?

I read somewhere that the worst thing you could ever do to a depressed person is ask the question, "Why?" Because there is no answer most of the time. And it's a feeling that cannot be full described to suit the needs of the listener so that he may actually understand the experience of the mentally unstable. Unless you've been there, that rock bottom club filled with tears and blood, that raw, and so unreal, juncture in space and time, you will never get it.

A numbed, yet at the same time unstable, and sad mess. But the mess is all bottled up and expertly concealed. I am my life's greatest pretender.

It's happened again where I need another change. My friend thinks I might be bipolar instead of merely a type of depressed person. I'm beginning to believe him, because now the feelings are becoming comparable highs and lows as well. But who knows, I'm not a fucking psychologist. I do know that I need to actively seek out real professional help though, but who has the motivation for that either? Those are precious hours wasted that could've been spent in bed.

But I stray, the point is: Guilt. Saying and doing are two completely different things. Whatever I have, severely disrupts my work ethic and has transformed me into and unreliable employee with a highly disappointed manager. But why am I stressed myself and beating myself over and over about a job that should be so simple and mechanical? Why am do I go home most of the time feeling so inadequate because if it's not one thing, it's another- and nothing is ever good enough. We've become robots, but since when did our own feelings not matter? Oh right, it's the vicious and malicious monster of the retail world where everyone is out for themselves and where familial issues are not a viable reason to call out of work. What could be more important than family? It's blood. And what could be more important that what's coursing through our bodies and sustaining life for us?

Yet, again, I stray. But it does feel good to write again. I've taken so much time off from this blog that maybe that's where I began to disintegrate further into not knowing who I was and am. I lost an outlet. But it was because I was tired of hearing myself speak and circulating and recirculating the same tiresome broken record of words that filled my pathetic soul. But what do you do when your life is on a loop and you physically feel unable to act. That's where all the disdain for all those inspirational posters and pictures come in. I am so goddamn sick of all the, "Well if you only help yourself, then you will be happy." Or shit like, "Where every tear there is a rainbow of hope." Fuck that shit. (yeah I made up those phrase just now, but you get it) I am so goddamn sick of coming across those shitty sayings and signs because when push comes to shove, that shit does not pertain to people like us. That's where you can clearly see the distinction and divide between "them" and "us". We, us kindred spirits, know, we fucking know, that it doesn't work that way. If only it were that simple. That's where the saying, "easier said than done" comes to play and application. The whole, "you can only help yourself, and to be happy, you have to make yourself happy first." Well fuck you, and fuck them. Like it's so fucking easy to be happy. I can't even remember the last time I was fully happy without the beast creeping and stirring underground- just waiting for its move. Because until you get rid of that beast, until you kill it, all that happiness, rainbows and sunshine, will never be for you. And we might have to realize that that, isn't in the cards for us.
Because killing that beast, will be killing a part of ourselves. Because that beast is us. It's a mirrored reflection of who we are.

But I get it, until you're ready blah blah. It all makes sense, but it all doesn't anyway. When you're numb and unmotivated- when you hit that state of being where nothing even matters anymore- that's when you're really screwed and beyond repair. I feel like I have to be dragged to be saved, fixed, undamaged, whatever. Yet, I also feel so damaged that I stick out in the world. I am the outcast of my realm. And it's when you come to maturation and finally receive that unfortunate epiphany of your entire existence that it all comes colliding and crashing down. Because now it's too late.

All the signs were there, all of them, from birth. It's insane how much you remember when you don't want to remember at all.

Okay, digressing, I know. The point is: guilt. My boss has every right to be disappointed, angry, and frustrated. It is not fair to her to have to deal with my poor work performance just because I'm going through shitty life right now. But then again, why am I beating myself up over work? It's 'cause I take everything personally when I shouldn't. Oh here we go, I will counter-argue with the whole, "but it's my life and why shouldn't it be personal, 'cause life is personal itself". There, in a nutshell, done. Moving on.

So the big question is: How do you separate your life?
As a persona who feels everything around her and nothing at the same time, how do you isolate things when everything has become so goddamn blurry and bungled together. I feel like I was a painting that in the end got all blended together with the brush of my own doing. So now I am a nameless and faceless blend of colors, pigments, and textures from a palate.

 So anyway, the gut decision, where I just know out of the blue and receive that force of impenetrable motivation to do one thing as soon as possible to move on. I've decided to put in my two weeks.
I know "quitting" is never the answer, but in this case, I shouldn't not want to be at work all the time. I shouldn't have to get yelled at and treated like shit (I was gonna say like a dog, but even they treat dogs like kings) every day by grumpy customers all day long. And feel so inadequate. I swear, people of the retail world should get hero medals because it is a mentally and emotionally taxing job that leaves you dead inside because it shows you the wrong end of humanity.

Yeah, sure, "kill them with kindness" but that can only go so far before they kill you first. And indeed they will.

Damn, I forgot how good it felt just to free form write. How a single thought can transition into all this and branch on into little segues of other thoughts and that it opens up a plethora of brain picking matter. This is one of my sorts of transcendence. Cheers, lovers.