For many years, I have believed that I am ‘not suited’ to working five-days a week. I’ve tried explaining it to people but true understanding is hard to find. A most common response is: ‘Well, I have to do it!!’ It could be a matter of perspective; it could be a lack of satisfaction in what I do. Either way, my bills will never disappear and I feel resigned to enduring life just so that I can keep earning and giving money away.
I changed jobs last year. A change for the better? Maybe. But I knew in advance that this was never something I was going to want to do long term. I fell out of love with it almost immediately my general mood has been deteriorating since Christmas. I’m snacking a lot. I feel and fear I’m putting on weight. Insomnia is a long-term presence within my life. I often think about ‘not going in’… And I’ve done this a few times. My boss knows about my anxiety issues. But I always have to return or hide away as the same person and I know, deep down, that running away is not the answer.
It’s late. I should’ve gone to be a while ago. I should be in bed now, knowing that I have to go ‘there’ and continue this furious routine for another day.
But, I want to sit here and write. I’ve been bothered with ‘W’ for a while and had intended to sit down and write about this sometime last week… It hasn’t happened because I’ve been too busy. Too tired. Too anxious. Too many excuses.
Let’s write about work, when I should be resting in preparation for the next day, I say.
I had intended to join in with a group activity event today. It’s something I do quite regularly and I still owe many thanks to ‘B’ (if ever she reads this) for suggesting the idea AND finding the information five years ago.
I could be off now, trying to do something on my own… Instead, I’ve chosen to sit here and write. Partly so that I can hide away from the world but also, in an attempt to save myself from too much inner suffering and slaughter.
I came here a few weeks ago for the first time in months. I wrote something and found it beneficial. It would be nice to think that it really ‘gets it out of your head’ but I realise what I’m actually doing is sharing, with everyone and no-one (as an anonymous blogger). By writing here, I’m lessening the burden I place upon myself.
So, I’m back to write some more today. Already, having written very little, I feel a microscopic improvement.
I’ve been struggling of late, more than I am somehow prepared to admit. It’s almost as if admitting to it will see me weaken, drop my guard and fall in to some kind of low-level breakdown… I don’t know. I feel like my insomnia has somehow taken over, even though I’ve been earning an extra hour in bed.
Over the last few months, I’ve watched at least a couple of films where the main character suffers some form of insomnia, which then leads to further consequences. In each situation, there is a clear ‘trigger’ for these episodes of lost sleep; some of which, only become apparent (to both the viewer and sufferer) as the film rolls on.
Here, I’m going to write about why I might be suffering with a constant lack of sleep.
As the weekends arrive with the passing of each working week, I’m finding it increasingly more difficult to remove myself from under the duvet.
Image found on Instagram and is not my own.
Getting up in the morning is proving to be hard. Now, I could blame many aspects for this, including the time of year – but the weather, for one, is quite mild considering we’re almost halfway in to December. More importantly; I’m working to remind myself to be emotionally responsible and intelligent, with regards to my feelings.
It is not because of anything or anyone external that I am struggling to get out of bed. It is me.
Instead of dwelling on that, I’m going to try and write about how to I look for ways to get me going each Saturday and Sunday.
As I find myself frustrated with a person I have come to feel very close to, I also find myself wanting to vent and share directly with them… But at the same time, I’m more fearful of their perception than any potential reaction at this time… So, uncertain of what to do and how to handle this, I find myself reconnecting with my pseudonym to write it all down here.
This post will have nothing to do with the Eminem single that rose Dido high and up in to the limelight in the earls 00s… Even though I’ve ironically been subjected to listen to that artist’s ‘noise’ over the past few days at work!
Today, I want to write about the autobiography of Stan Collymore; a former-Premier League footballer (soccer player) who, later on in his short-lived career, received a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder.