Invalidcharactr
09-11-2012, 10:27 PM
My fiance says that the only time he's ever seen me happy was when I was unemployed. I've never had a job that I didn't absolutely loathe, and I can't imagine a job/life that doesn't make me a ball of stress and misery.
At least not a respectable one, anyway.
Unfortunately, I have a perfectly respectable degree for a perfectly respectable job that involves a lot of perfectly respectable little tasks.
Going in to work in a quiet, dull little office is the equivalent of having someone shrieking in my face about... say... the history and manufacture of staples and staple accessories. It's an assault; it's almost painful in its sensory manifestations, but it's utterly banal and tedious. I guess frantic tedium is a good way of describing a job.
I'm an adult. I should be past all of this, but I utterly resent having to go in every day. The ride to work leaves my jaw clenched and my neck sore in anticipation of hours and hours of being utterly and completely held hostage to my need to pay rent. There's no getting up and eating when you're hungry; you have to wait until an arbitrary and non-biologically determined time to consume food. At least I can use the bathroom and get a drink of water whenever I feel like it, but that's pithy comfort when I'm shivering in hideous air conditioning and listening to my stomach growl at 10 in the morning.
I have to be up in a matter of hours, and just writing this has made me tense.
I'm sick of the derealization and my stress-dependent lack of short-term memory.
Sometimes I wonder if it's just genetically predetermined and I will just be either miserable or a screw-up. (This isn't how I feel all or even most of the time). My parents are both addicts and my mother's been in and out of more mental hospitals than I can recall. My father never spoke more than a few words to us at a time (unless he was drunk or high), which leads me to suspect that he was so socially inept that he required substances in order to man up enough to even speak to children. My grandmothers were schizophrenic (father's side) and co-dependent (mother's side). I don't know anything about my father's father, except for the fact that when he visited us he never said anything beyond "hello," and my mother's father was an overgrown child who was prone to fits of explosive rage and irrational behavior.
I don't want to take medication for this, since my fiance tells me that I blame medication or physical issues of mine for my flaws, instead of just recognizing my flaws as signs of weakness to be eradicated.
The eradication is the difficult part, since I'm not always entirely sure what is correct/normal and what is disordered. I know that anxiety isn't normal, but how can I force my brain to relinquish its stupid habits?
At least not a respectable one, anyway.
Unfortunately, I have a perfectly respectable degree for a perfectly respectable job that involves a lot of perfectly respectable little tasks.
Going in to work in a quiet, dull little office is the equivalent of having someone shrieking in my face about... say... the history and manufacture of staples and staple accessories. It's an assault; it's almost painful in its sensory manifestations, but it's utterly banal and tedious. I guess frantic tedium is a good way of describing a job.
I'm an adult. I should be past all of this, but I utterly resent having to go in every day. The ride to work leaves my jaw clenched and my neck sore in anticipation of hours and hours of being utterly and completely held hostage to my need to pay rent. There's no getting up and eating when you're hungry; you have to wait until an arbitrary and non-biologically determined time to consume food. At least I can use the bathroom and get a drink of water whenever I feel like it, but that's pithy comfort when I'm shivering in hideous air conditioning and listening to my stomach growl at 10 in the morning.
I have to be up in a matter of hours, and just writing this has made me tense.
I'm sick of the derealization and my stress-dependent lack of short-term memory.
Sometimes I wonder if it's just genetically predetermined and I will just be either miserable or a screw-up. (This isn't how I feel all or even most of the time). My parents are both addicts and my mother's been in and out of more mental hospitals than I can recall. My father never spoke more than a few words to us at a time (unless he was drunk or high), which leads me to suspect that he was so socially inept that he required substances in order to man up enough to even speak to children. My grandmothers were schizophrenic (father's side) and co-dependent (mother's side). I don't know anything about my father's father, except for the fact that when he visited us he never said anything beyond "hello," and my mother's father was an overgrown child who was prone to fits of explosive rage and irrational behavior.
I don't want to take medication for this, since my fiance tells me that I blame medication or physical issues of mine for my flaws, instead of just recognizing my flaws as signs of weakness to be eradicated.
The eradication is the difficult part, since I'm not always entirely sure what is correct/normal and what is disordered. I know that anxiety isn't normal, but how can I force my brain to relinquish its stupid habits?