I’d rather be doing something else. I feel restless and out of sorts, more at work than at home. I want to flee. I just want to pick my stuff up off my desk and run out the door without even saying goodbye. And then just run, run down the stairs, through the hallway, into the parking lot where I’d sit for a few minutes with the car idling while I took in my surroundings for the last time, before driving off without looking back at that building, the people in it or that festering, rotting neighborhood that depresses the hell out of me every morning.
But it’s not work is it? It’s not my job. It’s not that. It’s winter. It’s everything. Everything is making me restless. The winter, oh god, the winter. The darkness, the cold, the claustrophobic way the short days have of smothering you so you feel like you won’t be able to breathe properly again until spring. I want to be somewhere else and at the same time I want to be nowhere but on my couch, almost hidden beneath a layer of blankets.
The job situation and the winter are playing games with my mental health issues and sometimes I feel like the medication I’m on isn’t enough if I’m feeling this way but then I think that any normal person would feel this way if they got up every day and went to work for ten hours at a job that made them feel like they were wasting their lives away, if they woke in the dark and drove home in the dark and then I think there are probably thousands of people in the same situation as me, people who just want to flee from the entire idea of what they’re doing with their lives, people who are tired of the dark and the cold.
I worry about me, though. I can’t worry about the rest of them. I worry sometimes about stepping off the curb, about what it will take, what will be my “Falling Down” moment that makes me either go on some sort of rampage or just give in all together and revert back to the way I was when agoraphobia and I were best friends.
And I know I’m stronger than that and I have a better support system now but still, there are mornings, especially mornings after nights filled with dreams about the bullies of my childhood, there are mornings when I just want to cry as if that would be enough to make me feel better.
There are hugs, there is reassurance but in the end there is still that start to the ten hour day and that’s something that has to end if I’m ever going to stop feeling this restlessness. I have to learn acceptance. I have to go into each day accepting that this is what I do and realize, really, fully realize, that it’s just the winter talking. It’s just the dark and the cold and the emotional claustrophobia. It’s just the depression. It’s just my brain. I don’t hate my job, I dislike my situation. I don’t hate the people I work with, I’d just rather be by myself right now, or with just the people I love, the people who comfort me when the weight of the season starts to crush me.
It’s just the winter, is all.
The light will be here soon enough.