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I hate my life.

It’s hard to like myself when I’m the one making the choices that comprise this life that I hate.

It’s nearly impossible to trust myself for the same reason.

So, what does a person who hates her life, who blames herself for it, and who therefore doesn’t trust herself to make better choices, do?

Well, I went into my Regional Director’s office today and basically told her that I hate my life (work being a major component of that life).

I’m an idiot.

I screamed bloody-fucking-murder for almost a full straight two minutes on my way to work this morning. That is hard to do.

The truth is, whatever I write tonight is going to be some part crap because it’s all coming through this shut down, wish-I-didn’t-give-a-god-damn-about-any-of-it, maybe I should become a hermit, life is never, ever, EVER, going to get any better than this and this is barely survivable, place that I’m in. It’s lovely. You should visit.

Pbbllltttt!

That’s probably closer to the truth than anything I’m going to say tonight. I can’t see anything clearly. I know this. Not myself. Not my work. Not my life. Not my choices. I hate all of it right now, and it’s all distorted by that lens.

I’m angry. I’m terribly sad. I’m scared out of my mind. I’m lost and confused. I feel like I’ve been turned around so many times, I couldn’t begin to guess at what direction I’m pointing. I’m tired. I feel so alone that it actually makes me want to force myself to be even more alone, so that maybe how alone I am will stop hurting. It was part of the genius behind my plan to stop speaking to people as of today.

It’s all a bit of nonsense at this point. It’s a lot of fear and shame.

I don’t even know whether or not to sit down and be with myself in this place, or to try and crawl my way out of it.

I give up.

I hate god sometimes.

And, I give up.