Sometimes struggle is good, it invigorates and reaffirms the life within.
I don’t think I remember what that struggle feels like.
For months it’s been dark here.
I struggle to find the light. I struggle to find the motivation. I struggle to breathe at times.
Work has been problematic. I struggle to feel useful. It’s heavily implied that I’m not working enough, despite several co workers routinely taking breaks to play basketball with a trash can and nerf ball. When I tell the bosses about tech problems I am dismissed and told to stop looking for excuses to not do my job. One of my job titles is IT for the office. The doom patrol in my head tells me I’m nowhere near as smart as I’ve previously been told. It tells me I’m an imposter and I don’t deserve to have better, to be in charge of things, to move out of the lowest position in the office.
I’ve been looking for another job but the only responses I’ve been getting are scam jobs. I struggle to feel like I have value when day after day I get rejection notices, if I get anything at all. The doom patrol has to speak up then. It can’t let a chance go by to tell me that I’m under qualified and unskilled, that nobody sees me as an asset. I am positive that I bring nothing to the table.
Home is tiny and cramped. I feel like my brain is jumbled and running at triple time. There’s a huge list of craft things I want to do. Most get scrapped because either I’m missing things to complete it and it’s not worth bothering over or I’d have to dig through the piles of stuff to find all the pieces and then clear off space … it’s a hassle. I’m already exhausted and this is beyond overwhelming. I feel like I’m spinning in place, too many projects half started, too many in my head. I want to make things, to relax, to sell and supplement our income but the doom patrol sees this as futile. My creative ideas are stupid, nobody’s going to buy any of the ideas, my implementation is stupid, and really all I’m doing is wasting time, money, and energy. I’d be better off huddling under the blankets and praying that it’ll all just end.
I struggle to get up, to get dressed, to feel happiness. I feel like a wretch because I got married less than 3 months ago. I should be happy. He’s doing everything he can to make things better for me, to remind me that he loves me, no matter what. The doom patrol in my head keeps blocking it all out. I feel like I’m failing him. We’re going to counseling. So far the only suggestion to come out of it is to get a better job so we can move, so I have room, so I can wear clothing that’s not 15 years old. How do I do that when I can’t get people to call me back? Meanwhile I’m quite convinced that the pretty words he tells me are just lip service. He’s rather tired of me being broken, of me needing extra reassurance, of me spinning out of control when things don’t work out the way I thought they would and I have to make adjustments to my projects. The doom patrol tells me he doesn’t want to spend time with me, no matter how much time he spends with me. They tell me he puts on headphones for his games to shut me out even though I know it’s to keep me from being bothered by the sounds of his games.
There are moments where I think I might be able to see the light again and then it all comes crashing in on me once more. I try to wear the mask. I’m not Eeyore and I fear rejection, isolation. I’ve already had one friend stop talking to me when I admitted that I didn’t know what he could help with because I just wanted to stop existing. No worries though, mustering up the wherewithal to do anything about it is too much of a struggle. The doom patrol makes sure to remind me that there’s no point even bothering as when I tried years before I didn’t even do that right. The doom patrol is on top of everything, they make sure I know my place.
Some need a struggle to feel alive. This struggle of constantly fighting the doom patrol is wearing me down. Soon I will be nothing. I struggle to hold back the tears and fears; I hope they, or I, disappear.