Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

I’ve had trouble building up the courage to do what needs done. Too shy. Too ashamed. Like I’m a betrayer. But it does need to happen. Already I am red and scabbed on my inside and more on my outside. At this rate I won’t have any skin or teeth left. Burned away or cut away. Stress and a feeling of failure and incompetence because I’m stretched too thin, “like butter over too much bread.”

A weekend not of fun, but of shame, shakes, sobs, and more red. Some pink. Shirking responsibilities to make way for the intention of normality.

Don’t get me wrong. Everything is great and I’m lucky to be alive and all that but damn do I need some coping skills.

Something tells me my current arsenal for self-destructive-deal-with-it techniques are somehow unhealthy.

 

UPDATE: I finally quit the second job. Hopefully the worsened depression subsides shortly.

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