I am so tired of hearing myself complain that I’m unhappy but I can’t make it stop.
There is nothing to be unhappy about unless you count the fact that I have R300 left in my account and that has to somehow get us through to the end of the month, too many unforseen and unbudgeted expenses this month, but that’s not what’s got me down, I know that somehow I’ll be fine, illustration work will come my way and we’ll manage.
I just have no nothing, I’m even too tired to cry even though that’s all I want to do. Cry and stay in bed. Does that makes sense? Probably not, I’m not making any sense. My head is a mess and I really wish I’d be sent home so I could just sit and process. I’m trying really hard to do what has been set out for me and for the most part I’m winning but it’s all just going through the motions. There’s no heart in it, and I have a lot of heart to put into things. Usually.
It’s been like this for a little while now, a few weeks maybe, a month or so and I’ve kept a smile on and pushed forward in hopes that it’ll blow over like it always does, but it hasn’t, it’s just felt more and more pretentious. I have an appointment on Thursday which is great in the sense that I’ll actually be able to talk about it but at the same time I’m petrified as it might mean changing my meds again and I thought I was finally on the right track. But I’m not on the track anymore. I can see the track but I’m not on it.
I hate this.
I really wish my head made the right chemicals or maybe I wish that I didn’t understand or comprehend this so well so that I could be blissfully ignorant and crazy. Instead I feel like I’m trapped in my own body, there is me that knows all of this but my body just won’t let me be. I really just want to be happy.