Tag Archives: work

How do I feel?

I don’t know. Things should be better but I’m having difficulty assigning a scale to how depressed I am. I’m not cutting but I think about it – a lot.

It’s only day 2 on lexapro so I can’t even tell what I feel apart from tired, manic, insomniac and other contradicting feelings.

I’m smoking like a chimney and wandering around in my nightdress.

I was refused disability allowance on health grounds. Depression isn’t a disability apparently when one is 30 – “sure you’ll get over it” and the doc will write me sick notes from week to week to allow me to get social welfare, which means I have no security.

I don’t know how other people manage? How do you hold down a job with manic/depression?

I’m to numb to rant even.

Work frustrations

OK I’ve gone from weepy to furious in a second. Don’t ask my fucking advice just to reject it. One of my colleagues thinks he knows better than everyone on every subject under the sun. I am the Communications Expert. Don’t tell me how to do my fucking job because you want to have symmetry in unrelated slogans.

FUCK YOU

I grind my teeth and attempt to smile because he’s tight with the boss but fuck it all, if he wants to do my job as well that’s fucking fine but do not overrule me when I know better than you

Fucking doctors

I know that in a lot of ways I am very privileged to have access to insurance and everything but I gotta rant for a bit because I’m going even crazier and I don’t know what to do.

My shrink texted me for an appointment when I got back from holidays and I replied with yes please. No reply for five days. So I text her again and she can only fit me in but only during my working hours.

Luckily I’ve got a very decent boss who gives me the time off and who found me alternative work to be doing. My work is very triggering. I deal with rape, murder, genocide and child abuse, some of which includes graphic photos of dead people. Work led to PTS which led to depression.

I confirm the appointment with that bloody shrink and she writes me back saying that she heard that my insurance pays $1000 for headshrinking and now she’ll going to charge me over double what I already pay. The truth is that my insurance will repay me up to $1000 a year. I’ve already “spent” over $1000 on therapy in the past three months. Insurance takes over five months to repay and then I’m screwed on the exchange rate $ to €. I’m a frakking volunteer. I get paid enough to live on just about.

Now I have to decide whether it’s worth paying out of pocket and try and explain the situation. Even if she keeps charging me the regular amount, it is a serious drain on my income. I feel like she is taking advantage of me. I’m fucked up and living in a fucked up country and she has a monopoly on head shrinking.

The therapy is good, mostly, but her answer to everything is to keep jacking up my Zoloft and to pass my insomnia issues along to the prescribing doctor.

That fucking doctor is getting on my tits as well. Not only does he believe that he knows more about me than I do but he keeps pushing WLS on me even knowing that my fatness in caused, in part by PCOS. I had a polite rant to him a few weeks ago and now he just writes me prescriptions. I just need the scrips to get refunded from my insurance cos I can get all my drugs over the counter. In fact I was so angry with him that I just kept buying Zoloft and didn’t go near his office for months.

When he was writing my latest scrip for Ambien, he prescribed too low a dose and proceeded to lecture me on possible addiction. I asked him for the millionth time if he had an alternative. He just said that my body needs to adjust to the drugs, which is what he said last time and the time before that and the time before that. That fuckwit is assigned to my organisation so I don’t have to pay the consulting fees but it does mean that I can’t afford to switch to a doctor who gives a flying fuck.

It’s been almost four months and I still can’t sleep. Done all the usual insomnia cures. I’m considering asking someone hit me over the head each night.

I really don’t know if insomnia or developing an addiction to sleeping pills is worse.

I feel totally vulnerable and cheated. I’m really angry. I’m smoking like a chimney. Really don’t know what to do. So tempted to never go back but I’m completely fucked up mentally. My friends are there for me when they can be but I’ve no family here and I get harassed (pointed at, laughed at, asked how many kilos I weigh,) and there is a constant threat of violence (women have been robbed at gun point and knife point near my office and my flat) every single time I leave my house.

So much for paradise

Well the holiday is over and it’s back to hell for me. I am less one friend and plenty of money. I do not feel anything. My depression is back and I am thinking of leaving Hell and going home to my parents, get a job in Europe and stop chasing the dream.

My boss is trying to get a decent contract for me where I would be paid will actual money and then Hell would probably become Purgatory but can I stand it. I haven’t told my parents about the depression and I can’t broach the topic while I am half a world away. Going home feels like quitting though. I don’t know what to do. I’m not a quitter in general

I really fancy going to Nairobi and getting a job there. I’d be near M+L and they could be my surrogate parents for a while. Must try something cos life should not be this depressing

Cover letter

My train wreak job is killing my will to apply for other jobs. It took me three hours to write a decent cover letter and I’m a writer. It’s what I do. Other people’s cover letters are so easy but my own is bloody impossible. I feel like I’ve lost all objectivity.

The downward spiral, again. Hell has me in its clutches. I’ve got to take control again

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff

Sometimes I hate the ambition that has brought me to Hell. I want to be the best in my field, get paid the most, get the most recognition. I want to rule my field by working for the best organisation. But that means I have to pay my dues, which is what I’m doing now. I pay my dues by working a shit job. I work as a volunteer. I file documents. I am ambitious and ambition should be made of sterner stuff. I choose Hell because of my ambitions.

What what point though does the end not justify the means. How much more time do have have to spell in Hell? How much is my will to continue worth? How much more of this life can I take?

My contract is for six months. I suppose I should be grateful that there is a light at the end of the tunnel but I am afraid that the job I am contracted for, may take longer. That scares me big time. All my friends are leaving but at the moment I hardly care. I am a world away from my family and I think of returning home and working in an undemanding job so I can just live. Here I hate my job even if it is the path to the high life. I hate Hell and I hate the lack of romantic potential here.

I will stick it out. I will prove that I am made of this sterner stuff. I will finish my three years in Hell. I wonder how much of me will be left afterwards.

Return to Inferno

Getting out of Hell was the best decision ever. Feel refreshed, revitalised and ready to continue the Sisyphean task of residing in the Fifth Circle. Although I have to say that the circle changes the longer I live here. I would describe it as the second circle on some days. Context is reality. The message is the medium, and all that jazz.

Anyway, I am being abandoned these days as friends move on to Purgatory and Paradiso. My sentence has been extended another year. I can only assume that I am paying off karma at a vastly accelerated rate.

I work. I drink. I sleep. I think I’m killing my brain slowly. I need something more stimulating before my brain atrophies. Maybe I’ll write a novel on residence in Hell. Maybe answer emails or do a diploma. Gotta decide eventually.

In the meantime, I intend to lie to friends, skip birthdays and work like the devil to finish the boring part of my work (pushing the stone up the hill) and move on to something less mind-numbing. TTFN