Tedious

 I'm tired beyond belief. I can't sleep. The world is fucked up. I'm looking for a job. So are a lot of people. I got turned down for the only thing I'm actually qualified to do. Because of who I am. 

I know it's tedious. I'm tedious. I have driven away everyone who has loved me. It's no ones fault but my own. I'm defective. I wish I was the kind of person that people smiled when they thought of, but I'm not. I wish I could see people. I wish I could go on a road trip. I miss adventure days. My dreams are torturous if I do get to sleep.

I realize that this could be a symptom of restarting psychiatric meds. I don't have a doctor to call about it, they were given to me at the ER. Yeah, I have another hospital bill. I already owe someone I love an ungodly amount of money. I'm not asking for help. That doesn't usually work for me. It's okay. I understand.

I can't imagine it ever getting any better any more. I know, lots of people feel this way. My pain is not unique. My distress is not unique. My feeling forgotten and useless and powerless isn't unique. I wish I could reach out and ask for reassurance, but I'm not positive people care anymore. I'm always in crisis, right? I make shitty choices. I take responsibility. I have fucked everything up. Well, I didn't cause a pandemic. 

I spend most of my energy acting okay around my Mom. For god's sake, don't worry her if you know her. She feels helpless when I'm a mess. Which is always. I get it. It's tedious.

I got approved by a place that offers healthcare, I'm just trying to get an appointment now. 

I want to run, but there's nowhere to go.

If I have ever hurt you in anyway, caused you any pain, or let you down, I am so sorry. I really do want you to think of me and smile.

I wish I was part of something. A community. But I'm the wrong shaped puzzle piece. I get it. I don't even know what that would feel like. 

There's such pretty things in my head, but I can't put them out in the world. I feel like I'm screaming, silently in a room full of people, and no one notices.

Lots of people feel this way. I'm not unique, or important.

This isn't anyone's fault but mine. Defective brain. According to politics, I'm not producing anything or adding anything, so I'm disposable. 

I have some possible job leads, still really insecure about how I talk. I just can't work general retail anymore. I just need out of my house. But I'm so tired. Because I'm defective.

Other people are tired and unemployed and upset. It's not unique. It's not special. And me bitching about it is tedious.

This isn't about anyone but me. Defective. It's not manipulation. It's not guilt. It's not seeking attention. I don't want anyone to think it is, it's just how I feel. It's not your fault. I'm defective.

I know. Trust me, I understand. I'm too much. Too defective. I want you to be happy. I'm not conducive to that.

A key, a bee, a sword. But sometimes, there's just no happy ending.