depression

Every year I get to this place. Where I once again slowly acknowledge that I am not cut out for working in an office, sitting at a computer keeping a calendar, answering the phone. That I am depressed. It usually happens in the fall. To coincide with the onset of my yearly bout of SAD.

I have recently discovered that I am more miserable than I had thought. My life is not nearly what I want it to be. There are ways that I could improve it, but I feel stuck. Unable to do anything to help myself. It is a lifelong rut. A feeling of being paralyzed. It starts every morning when I wake up. The alarm goes off. And I lie there. I cannot move. The fear that I am going to fuck everything up even more grandly than I already have is more powerful than any drive or desire that I might have. I lie there and stare at the clock as the minutes slip by, and I get more and more dangerously close to being late to work yet again.

I don't want to be this way. To feel trapped. To feel paralyzed. To feel crazy. I hate that I am unable to get anything right. Not a job, not men, actually, very few decisions I ever make. I'm not even sure what I am passionate about. I know what I profess to be excited about. But I'm not any good at that. Or at anything.

I hate myself. For all of this failure. For not being able to let go of the past. For tall of the anger I carry around. For the paralysis. For the disappointment.